


Unravelled Capes

by fiddle_stix



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Lack of Communication, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Softness, emotional tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddle_stix/pseuds/fiddle_stix
Summary: Mark’s brain is screaming at him, his heart wanting to wrench itself from his chest, and he’s scared that he might be torn in two. “Please, Hyuck, don’t– I can’t– how are you here when you’re supposed to...” he sucks in a breath that takes all his energy, “when you’re supposed to be dead?”Donghyuck’s grin is gone, a flash of something far too sad pooling in his eyes that Mark can feel it right in the middle of his chest.“Why don’t you come inside, Mark?”(Or: Mark rocks up on Donghyuck's doorstep one night. It's a mess.)
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 54
Kudos: 109





	1. Naufrago

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how we ended up here, my hand must have slipped. The biggest thank you to the wonderful [noah](https://twitter.com/carrotyeol), who thought up this fabulous title and is officially one of my newfound friends. You're the best!
> 
> Please enjoy whatever this is!

> _At the end of the day, aren't we all just trying,_
> 
> _Trying to find our way back home?_

Mark’s mother always used to say he was born ready for action, coming into the world loud and determined, no time to spare.

The last time he’d heard it was last Christmas, before Jinx had decided to take the Han Tower hostage, before the building had collapsed and Mark had woken up two days later to the doctor’s grim smile and Taeyong in the chair beside him with his head bowed and shoulders shaking.

That day feels miles away from Mark. He’s alone, standing on a dirt road, surrounded by the gentle sounds of leaves swaying in the wind. His taxi is long gone winding back down the stretches of road and he’s still clutching the little paper slip Taeyong had folded into his hand between his fingers, bag clutched in the other. 

Mark hadn’t known what to expect when Taeyong had rocked up on his doorstep, more jittery than his normal self. His hair was swept to the side and Mark didn’t even have to ask to know that Taeyong had run all the way to his apartment. It had taken him a whole cup of tea until he’d finally pulled the little piece of paper out of his pocket and offered it hesitantly to Mark.

_“I’m not supposed to give you this– god, you’re not supposed to know that he–” Taeyong had let out a sigh and then taken a deep breath, reaching up to take Mark’s wrist and push the paper into his palm. “If it all seems a bit too much,”—and Mark had held himself back from rolling his eyes because when was a building falling on you and taking you out of action not ‘too much’—”you should think about paying them a visit.”_

No matter how much Mark had tried to ask Taeyong whose address he’d given him, Taeyong wouldn’t budge. 

And now Mark is standing in front of the pale green cottage, in the middle of nowhere, feeling stupid. But the sun has already fallen behind the trees and his only choices are the tiny cottage or trekking the four kilometres back to the little town he’d passed through on his way here. No matter what super powers he’s got under his belt, Mark isn’t fond of walks through unknown forests at dark hours of the night. Especially now that his knee is out of action. 

It takes him four deep breaths until he musters up the courage to make it to the veranda. It takes him three more to reach out and lift the brass knocker on the door.

For a moment, all Mark gets is silence, and he tries to mentally prepare himself for the long walk into town when the door cracks open and his heart stutters to a stop in his chest.

Standing in the doorway, in a baggy shirt and grey sweatpants, is someone Mark never thought he would see again. Mark’s brain wants to shut down. There’s avocados on Donghyuck’s socks. Mark can’t breathe. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“Mark?”

At the sound of his voice, the world picks up speed again in double time, keeping pace with Mark’s racing heartbeat.

“Haechan?”

A smile lifts the corner of the boy’s mouth and it’s so familiar that it makes Mark’s heart hurt. “No one’s called me that in a while.”

“What are you doing here?” Mark asks before he can help himself.

He gets a grin this time. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep.”

Mark’s brain is screaming at him, his heart wanting to wrench itself from his chest, and he’s scared that he might be torn in two. “Please, Hyuck, don’t– I can’t– how are you here when you’re supposed to...” he sucks in a breath that takes all his energy, “when you’re supposed to be dead?”

Donghyuck’s grin is gone, a flash of something far too sad pooling in his eyes that Mark can feel it right in the middle of his chest. 

“Why don’t you come inside, Mark?”

Mark sucks in a breath and holds it until his lungs feel like they’re about to burst, until his heart doesn’t feel so frantic in his chest. Then on his exhale, he steps forward, through the doorway and into the cottage. Into _Donghyuck’s house._

The first thing he notices is the painting hanging on the wall to his right, a lake with a little wooden pier leading out into water painted in a startling vivid blue. There’s a figure sitting out on the edge of the pier, a little splotch of green against the water. Underneath the painting is a little table and underneath the table a wooden shoe rack.

Mark toes off his shoes and places them next to a pair of well-loved sneakers.

Following Donghyuck into the hallway, he starts to notice other things littered around. The space opens up into a kitchen and lounge room all in one, one of the wooden floor boards beneath his feet giving a little creak. There’s a pale blue throw rug hanging off one arm of the couch, two worn leather bound books lying on the small coffee table. The kitchen’s windows sills are lined with little pots and plant boxes, a couple of flowers sprouting from a red and green mug. 

It feels like a _home._

Mark’s heart starts to hurt again.

Donghyuck shuffles him over to the couch in the corner, motioning for him to sit. “I’m going to make some tea, okay?”

It takes all his effort to stifle up a nod through all of the thoughts bouncing around his head. Mark watches as Donghyuck putters around the kitchen, fetching mugs and boiling the kettle. It’s strange to see him do everything using his hands, nothing dancing through the air all on its own like Mark’s used to seeing. There used to never be a time where you couldn’t catch Donghyuck moving something around him, using his powers for even the littlest things. It makes him wonder what else has changed about Donghyuck. What else he’s missed.

Something moves out of the corner of his eye that makes Mark startle. But then the whisker’s twitch and a ball of white and grey fur leaps up onto the couch beside him. The cat’s eyes are a bright blue, lighter than the lake’s water, but no less mesmerising. It watches him, eyes wide and calculating, its long fur catching in the light. Mark doesn’t know whether to be scared or not.

The cat doesn’t seem to share his hesitation however because with a soft meow, it moves forward to rest its paws on his leg. When Mark reaches out a hand, the cat lifts up to press its nose into his palm. It seems to decide that he’s okay, because the next minute it’s curled up in his lap, purring happily.

“I see Fig likes you.”

Mark glances up to see Donghyuck standing across from him, a mug balanced in each hand. He offers the orange one to Mark, who takes it between his fingers, before settling into one of the armchairs across from Mark.

“Your cat is named Fig?” he asks, because every other question hurts too much to say.

Donghyuck smiles fondly, eyes flicking down to the cat in his lap. “She sure is.”

“But you don’t like figs.” Before the words have even finished coming out of his mouth Mark regrets saying them. He shouldn’t assume things like that. Maybe it’s one of the other things that’s changed about Donghyuck.

The only thing he sees in Donghyuck’s expression is surprise, the smile not dropping for a second. “Oh, you– you remember,” he says on a whisper, sounding a little in awe. Mark can only nod in response. _Of course he remembers. There hasn’t been a day since he last saw Donghyuck that the boy hasn’t crossed his mind._

“You have a cat,” Mark says, because his brains seem to have truly failed him.

“Yeah,” replies Donghyuck, gaze dropping to the purple mug clutched in his hands.

“And you live in the middle of nowhere.”

The response is softer this time, a gentle “yeah”.

“In a house.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck murmurs, barely louder than a whisper.

Mark’s hand is twisted in his shirt, clenched so tight that his knuckles are stark white. He wants to ask why. Better yet, he wants to ask how. How Donghyuck is alive, how he made it here?

“How did Taeyong know where to find you?” he asks instead.

He watches as Donghyuck’s fingers smooth over the lip of his mug, back and forth, over and over. “A couple of months after I disappeared, I sent him a letter with my address, my initials and a little note saying _for emergencies_. I wanted to…” he let out a small sigh, not taking his eyes off the mug. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just wanted to say a final thank you.”

There’s a question sitting on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask it. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer to it either.

“Why would Taeyong give me your address?”

“I don’t know, Mark,” Donghyuck says, and for the first time Mark realises the slight shake in Donghyuck’s fingers, the grip as tight as Mark’s that his left hand has on the handle.

“Why didn’t you ever– I never knew–” Mark’s grip on his mug tightens.

“Mark,” Donghyuck whispers, voice sounding strained and for the first time since he sat down, Mark is met with the boy’s gaze directed full force at him. His eyes are just as striking as they’ve always been. “Mark, you have to know… when I heard what had happened, when everyone was talking about you in town. I was so tempted to jump on the first train I could. To see if you were okay.”

A lump forms in Mark’s throat. “But you didn’t.”

Donghyuck hangs his head, eyes back on his mug. “I didn’t,” Donghyuck whispers to his knees even though Mark’s words weren’t a question. Mark has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from asking more. 

Time stretches, the silence between them widening, the only sound Fig’s soft purrs and the flutter of rustling leaves drifting through an open kitchen window. Mark takes a sip from his mug as an excuse to do something with his hands, and is met with liquorice and vanilla and something spicy. 

A couple more moments pass, and then, so faintly he almost misses it, Donghyuck murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Mark doesn’t know whether he’s apologising for not visiting Mark when he ended up in hospital or for all the time Mark spent believing that Donghyuck was dead. He’s still too scared to ask. 

After another hesitant moment, Donghyuck places his mug down on the coffee table and gestures to Mark’s bag. “Would you like to take that up to the guest bedroom?”

Mark doesn’t have time to conceal his shock. “I’m… the guest bedroom?”

The smile Donghyuck gives him doesn’t reach his eyes. “I would take you back to the town, but there’s nowhere to stay right now; all the bed-and-breakfasts’ are full with the summer traffic. Is that okay?”

It’s then that Mark realises that his mouth is hanging open. He closes it quickly, embarrassed, and nods to Donghyuck. After a few failed nudges, Donghyuck reaches out to relieve Mark of the white and grey ball of fluff. Mark watches as Fig lets out a loud purr, reaching up to nuzzle Donghyuck chin before resting back against his chest. Mark ignores the way that his heart squeezes in his chest.

“Would you like a hand?” Donghyuck offers, not unkindly, when they reach the staircase.

The ball of shame that had started to manifest itself in between Mark’s chest lights up, burning bright. “No.” His tone is curt and clipped and he almost feels bad. But used the pain in his knee as he follows Donghyuck up the stairs as a distraction instead.

The landing reveals a hallway with three doors leading off from it. “The bathroom,” Donghyuck tells him, as he points to the first door on his left. The other two lead to bedrooms, Mark learns. “This one is the guest one,” Donghyuck says as he moves over to the door on their right. 

A heartbeat passes, where Mark tries to figure out how to work his body again, before he follows Donghyuck. 

“It’s probably not like what you’re used to back at HQ,” Donghyuck begins to say, but Mark cuts him off with a hand on the boy’s wrist. Donghyuck’s words petter out, his eyes flicking up to Mark’s. Beneath Mark’s hand, Donghyuck’s wrist is warm, the skin smooth and achingly familiar. It’s the first time—Mark realises with a jolt—that they’ve touched since Donghyuck had disappeared.

His heart thuds in his chest, _once,_ then _twice,_ and then he jerks back as if he’d been burned.

“I– thank you, Donghyuck.”

Mark steps into the room, letting the door click shut behind him, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He stumbles towards the bed, duffle falling out of his hands somewhere along the way. The bedcovers are a soft yellow between his fingers, but it only registers faintly as he tries to remind his lungs how to work.

This can’t be real. He must have died when the tower had collapsed, and he’s in the afterlife now.

No, he must be real. If Mark was dead, his leg wouldn’t be throbbing painfully. If he was dead, shouldn’t he be free from all the nightmares that whispered in the night, all the screams that wouldn’t stop playing in his head. _No_ , Mark thought as he flopped back onto the bed, _being dead would be easier than this._

* * *

For once, Mark wakes up before the sun rises. The sky out his bedroom window is an eerie blue, the clouds dotting the sky shades of pink and purple. The thought of being dead crosses his mind again, a flicker that his shoves away before it can do any damage.

In the early morning light, everything seems a little out of focus. 

There’s a dresser in the corner made in a dark oak. A couple of books are lined up on top of it, two little succulents on each end keeping them upright. More books line the shelves of a bookcase, all shapes and sizes. There’s even a small desk in the corner, underneath a big window. 

Like the rest of the little cottage, the room feels like something out of a fairytale. Something right out of worlds with nymphs, pixies and magic; from the storybooks that little Mark had always pushed aside for the tales of heroes and capes that he’d begged his mother to read to him. 

Not for the first time, Mark wonders about the different children’s books that were stocked on shelves, featuring him—adorned in his suit and mask—across their covers. Wonders about the different children pouring over the covers, asking their parents to read them stories about Mark’s adventures, about how many stories had been written about him, Taeyong and Donghyuck.

Luckily, the sun chooses that moment to break the horizon and Mark finds himself clambering out of bed, limping over to the window above the small desk to watch as the world becomes bathed in gold. The tops of the trees catch the light first, the windows of the little greenhouse outside blazing brightly. Mark wishes he could stay up here, watching the forest brighten, the sun rising up into the sky.

But his leg has started to hurt from standing on it and his stomach has started to remind him that he didn’t eat dinner yesterday. With a sigh, he hobbles over to the door, leaning on the handle for support until he musters up the courage to open it. The landing is empty, _a small victory,_ so he turns to the stairs. Mark’s knuckles grip the banister his whole way down and he has to stop at the bottom to catch his breath. The little ball of shame in his chest flickers to attention.

The little cottage looks completely different in the light of day. There are tall windows across the back wall, sunlight streaming in, so that the whole house looks bigger. Resting on top of a little dining table across from the kitchen is a little vase with mismatched flowers resting upon it. Mark steps over to the bookcase, bigger than the one in the bedroom upstairs, running his fingers over the titles one by one.

They all look old and well loved. An entire shelf houses a myriad of books with plants and shrubs detailing their spines, another two filled with old novels. In the corner, tucked away behind a couple of cookbooks, Mark finds something that makes his breath catch in his throat. A little volume of comics, looking pristine and almost untouched compared to the rest of the bookcase. From the edge of one Mark can see a flash of orange and blue. He doesn’t need to look any closer to know what they are.

He’s so fixated on the little stack, that he startles at the sound of a door clicking shut. His gaze jerks up, all his years of training pulling him to his feet despite the protest of his leg, preparing his body for action. But it’s only Donghyuck, standing next to the kitchen door, a bowl of fruit in his hands and Fig winding around his ankles. The fight response shuts off immediately and he winces at the pain coursing through his knee.

“Donghyuck.”

The boy smiles gently. “Good morning, Mark.” There’s a flash of a memory, one of the ones that aren’t Mark’s, which flickers through his head; a bright morning, a figure that could be himself with bed hair and a lazy smile. Mark forces it away. After a moment of neither of them saying anything, Donghyuck gestures to his basket and then to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I was just about to make breakfast.”

Mark nods, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. Donghyuck doesn’t seem to mind his silence, moving over to the kitchen bench, pulling out a fry pan and chopping board. Fig doesn’t follow him, but his eyes instead lock on Mark. She slinks over, not hesitating to nuzzle against his shins just as she did to Donghyuck. Her eyes are even brighter in the sunlight, the light bouncing off her white fur.

Her two front paws press into his leg, stretching up with a little meow. Mark stares at her, not fluent in meows.

“She wants you to pick her up,” Donghyuck says with a poorly concealed laugh. There’s sunlight framing Donghyuck’s face, the smile on his face as familiar to Mark as the back of his hand. It makes something in his chest hurt.

“Pick her up?” he asks, sounding dumb even to his own ears. At Donghyuck’s nod, Mark reaches down hesitantly, Fig’s fur soft between his fingertips. She lets out a loud purr even before he’s fully picked her up and cradles her to his chest. She’s a big cat, fur soft and fluffed out like a lion’s mane, a welcome weight in his arms; warm and soft. 

When he glances back up, Mark sees Donghyuck ducking away, not fast enough to conceal the smile on his face. A smile of his own blooms on his face.

“How long have you had her for?” Mark asks Donghyuck’s back, because it sounds like a safe question.

It seems he’s chosen correctly, because Donghyuck turns back around to answer his question. His ears are red. “It’s been, uh, a year and a half now, I think. One of the ladies in town, her cat had a big litter last year, and she was looking for people to take the kittens.”

The fondness in Donghyuck’s face when he speaks about his cat makes Mark’s grin grow wider.

“Why did you choose her?”

Donghyuck grins. “When I arrived at Ms Jeong’s house, all the other kittens were so curious, bouncing and meowing all over the place. I sat down with them, watching them all jump around, until this tiny little kitten who hadn’t been playing with the others came up to me and curled up in my lap. A second later she was fast asleep.”

Mark let out a little laugh. “She’s a cuddler, like you.” He hadn’t even realised what he said until he heard Donghyuck suck in a breath.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck whispered to the rice he was rinsing in the sink.

Something never changed.

“Why choose the name Fig if you don’t like the fruit?”

“Ah, well–” the blush on Donghyuck’s cheeks was back. “There are a couple of reasons, but, well, you see, when I first arrived here, I wasn’t too good at looking after the plants. My grandpa who had lived here had kept most of the things in good order, but they weren’t doing so well when I rocked in. It was winter as well, which didn’t help.” Donghyuck shook his head ruefully. “Let’s just say that things took a while to bloom.”

Mark could imagine Donghyuck, the Donghyuck from before. Arriving at this pale green cottage, trying to care for plants while it snowed down on him. It was a lot nicer than all the other possibilities he used to imagine Donghyuck had gone and disappeared to.

“But,” Donghyuck continues softly, as if he could hear Mark’s thoughts, “the tree just out that window was the first one to flower. I got three figs that summer.”

Fig rests her little head on Mark’s shoulder, letting out a little purr. He doesn’t ask anymore questions after that, sitting on one of the couch arms to rest his knee and watch Donghyuck work in the kitchen. At one point he offers to help, but Donghyuck waves him off with a grin. “If you’re as bad at cooking as you always were, I can manage on my own.”

Donghyuck points him over to a door next to the bookcase when the food is finally ready, lifting Fig out of Mark’s arms so that he can go wash up. 

The bathroom is just like the rest of the house, whimsical and light, a ceramic bathtub taking up most of the room. When Mark looks into the mirror, he barely recognises himself. He’s used to it, however. He hasn’t seen himself since he woke up in hospital to Taeyong’s grief stricken expression. 

Breakfast is quiet and pleasant, the eggs sunny side up, the peaches fresh from the garden. Afterwards, Donghyuck offers to show him around. “Only if you like, of course, if you want I can take you back to town. I just assumed…” 

Mark waves him off. He’d hadn’t even thought about leaving anyway. “May I stay? If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” Donghyuck replies without a moment’s hesitation. 

For a moment they just stand there, watching each other. The blush is back on Donghyuck’s cheeks. 

“Lead the way.”

With a little shake of his head, Donghyuck seems to return to himself. “Yes, yes, uh, follow me.”

He doesn’t even have to ask; Mark’s pretty sure that he would follow Donghyuck to the ends of the earth.

The only room he hasn’t seen yet is the study leading off from the main room—not counting Donghyuck’s bedroom upstairs. It has big windows like the rest of the house and a desk piled with books and scattered pencils and more plants. It’s like the forest itself has slowly seeped into the house, peaking through to cracks and openings.

Donghyuck leads him out the back door onto a veranda that stretches all the way around the house. He points out everything to Mark as they go along; the flower beds and herb patches and Fig’s favourite spot for sun-baking. He takes him over to the greenhouse as well, nudging Mark inside. 

“The tomatoes will be ripe soon, so look forward to soup for the next month. Here, the raspberries are amazing,” Donghyuck says, passing over a handful.

_A month?_ Mark wants to ask. _How long is Donghyuck going to let him stay?_ He shoves the question down alongside all the others he doesn’t let slip.

They head back to their tour after that, and despite the sunshine and gentle breeze of the wind, the pain shooting through his leg is getting hard to ignore. _“Your leg doesn’t work the same as you’re used to,” Taeyong had told him, all gentle hands and sad eyes, “you can’t keep expecting it to be.”_ Mark hadn’t wanted to believe him, still didn’t want to; the swirling ball of shame embedded in his ribs.

But he stumbles over a rock and lets out a curse before he can help himself. He almost crumbles to the ground, his leg folding under his weight, but a hand shoots out to grab his upper arm, steadying him. Mark doesn’t have the time to freak out about Donghyuck being this close, not with the burning sensation all along his leg. They shuffle over to a tree and with gentle hands Mark is lowered to the ground, propped up against the trunk of the tree.

Mark sucks in a breath, counting to three before he lets it out, _nice and slow, that’s it,_ Mark can hear Taeyong say. It takes him four deep breaths before the pain dies down, another two before he can open his eyes.

Donghyuck is there, eyes wide, and for a second Mark gets a snapshot of the waves of worry and fear permeating Donghyuck’s mind. He blinks them away, pulling himself out and away from Donghyuck’s head. Once, before all this, it would have been okay. _Hell_ , Mark was used to feeling Donghyuck’s thoughts as if they were his own. But he doesn’t know if that’s still okay, if it’s one of the things that’s changed about Donghyuck since he disappeared.

Mark reaches out a hand to pat Donghyuck’s shoulder, trying for reassurance, but his flash of pain has thrown him off and he misses. His hand ends up across Donghyuck’s cheek instead, the skin warm and soft against Mark’s palm. There’s dimples across Donghyuck’s cheeks, a map of little dots that runs his neck. They ground Mark, something familiar for him to hold onto. 

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, “it’s okay.” 

The worry doesn’t soften in Donghyuck’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he starts, “I should have suggested that we sit down earlier, I didn’t–”

“It’s okay,” Mark repeats.

Donghyuck purses his lips but doesn’t argue. He reaches up a hand to cup Mark’s wrist where it’s resting against his cheek. For a moment, Mark just lets himself breathe in the smell of the forest, the closeness of Donghyuck, the sunshine against his skin.

There’s a question on the tip of Donghyuck’s tongue, the expression on the boy’s face all too familiar.

“What is it?” he asks, because they can’t _both_ be holding back their questions.

A little sigh falls from Donghyuck’s lips that Mark feels against his palm. “Does it get this bad often?”

Mark takes a deep breath, glancing down at his leg. The pain these days is almost constant, even though the doctor had said that things could change all the time, that Mark’s pain should go down in a couple of weeks. _“We still don’t have a whole lot of research on powered ones, your body works in different ways from the regular human.”_ But the diagnosis itself had always been clear from day one.

“The pain is a side-effect from the nerve damage,” Mark starts, and his voice sounds clinical and clipped even to his own ears. He draws his hand away from Donghyuck’s cheek. “The state which my leg was in after the collapse meant that for any normal person, they would have had to amputate. It only is supposed to get like this when I use it too much, like walking around and things, but sometimes the nerves get irritated too.”

Mark doesn’t need to look into Donghyuck’s mind to know the worry he’s feeling. It’s written all over his face. “Mark, I’m sorry.”

Mark doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the little knot of anger that’s formed next to the shame in his chest. Even though it hurts, even though he has missed Donghyuck everyday that he’s been gone, Mark doesn’t want to be resentful. Mark doesn’t want to acknowledge the voice in his chest that’s dying to scream out. 

They sit in silence for a couple of moments, enough that Donghyuck rocks back on his heels and moves out of his crouched position to properly sit down.

Mark’s next words come out in a sigh. “How did we end up here, Hyuck?”

A surge of emotions rise in Donghyuck’s thoughts, mirrored by the way his eyes grow darker and his shoulders slump. Like a cloud has passed over the sun for a moment, dampening its shine. “I don’t know, Mark,” Donghyuck mumbles.

The leaves rustle above them and the pain in his leg dies down as Mark’s heart aches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I just committed to writing a multi chaptered fic? In my last year of high school, did I seriously just plan out an entire story? You betcha! Boy, I'm so excited to show you everything I have planned for this! This is going to take us a while, my friends.
> 
> Now, enough of my being cryptic. To my most wonderful and adorable supporter, the gorgeous chu. Bro, I don't even have words to thank you anymore. I am forever indebted to you and your kindness. Whatever Mark merch you want, I'll buy you all of it.
> 
> To [lil](https://twitter.com/baridalive) and [noah](https://twitter.com/carrotyeol) and [riah](https://twitter.com/see_thevision), thank you for screaming at me to post this. I hope you like it!
> 
> I shall see you for another cryptic chapter soon, I love you all, stay safe! <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/fiddlestyyx) | [tmblr](https://fiddle-styx.tumblr.com/) | [messy pinterest inspo](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ldh_baobei/superheroes/)


	2. Caduto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mark is scared of waking up. Scared that he might lose Donghyuck in the crowd and Mark would wake up panting in his bed back at HQ—alone again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is taking every ounce of my self-restraint to try and not scream about everything that’s going to happen to chu. It is a daily struggle™.

The car bounces over another dip in the road and Mark’s hand tightens from where it’s gripping the car seat. For the fifth time that morning, Mark says in a voice that totally is not a whine, “Do we have to go?”

“I asked you this morning if you were alright to come and you said yes!”

Just because Donghyuck is right, it doesn’t mean that he has to be this annoying about it. Mark doesn’t remember the taxi ride to the little house being as bumpy as it was now. Maybe it’s Donghyuck’s old truck that looks like it’s been in someone’s garage since the sixties. Maybe it’s because Donghyuck still hasn’t gotten any better at driving since he’d disappeared

“Will there be much walking?” he tries to ask as nonchalantly as he can.

Donghyuck looks over at him, the hints of his teasing smile gone. “If your leg hurts, just let me know and we’ll find somewhere to sit down, okay?”

Mark nods around the shame digging its fingers into his heart.

It’s almost annoying how blasé Donghyuck is about driving the old truck, gripping the steering wheel like he’s done this a thousand times over. With a jolt, Mark realises that he probably has somewhere in all that time that Mark had missed. Mark flicks the thought away before it can take roots. The air between them has been awkward enough for the past two days without Mark’s brain getting in the way.

“Will Fig be alright on her own?”

“Mark,” Donghyuck says with a sigh, exasperated and familiar in the way that his mouth shapes Mark’s name. “It’s good to get some sunshine.” 

_God, he’s starting to sound like Taeyong._ Mark shuts that thought down too. Donghyuck hasn’t said a word more about everything that happened, how Taeyong has his address or _why_ he left them in the first place. Ever since Mark’s fall in the garden two days ago, everything has been off-kilter between them. It predates that, even, Mark reasons. It’s been strange since Mark showed up on his door. 

They had gone back inside when Mark had finally managed to bear using his left leg, Donghyuck still looking guilty and Mark too emotionally washed out to think about how to fix it. They’d stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, Donghyuck walking around and attending to plants, noting off things in one of his many notebooks. Mark hadn’t had the courage to ask what it was all about.

Instead, he had curled into an armchair, leg carefully resting on the coffee table at Donghyuck's insistence. Fig had joined him after a moment, her mix of white and grey fur already becoming familiar. He watches Donghyuck move around, trying to not get caught.

He still hadn’t seen Donghyuck use any of his power, hadn’t seen anything moving through the air on its own. There were no little tricks, no twirling things around like they were a spinning top or Donghyuck’s long fingers fluttering through the air when he had to lift something particularly heavy.

Dinner had come and went, and even waking up the next morning with a racing heart when he didn’t immediately recognise his surroundings didn’t change anything. The day had been filled with just as many odd silences and stifled words as the previous one.

So when Donghyuck had asked that morning if he would like to come into town to run some errands, Mark had replied without thinking. Maybe a little bit of fresh air would help them clear their heads. Or clear Mark’s, since he still had no idea what was happening up in Donghyuck’s, other than the brief flashes Mark got when his control slipped a little.

But now he’s a little unsure. He had woken up with a frantically beating heart that morning as well and had barely managed to conceal his sigh of relief when he ran into Donghyuck on the little upstairs landing. It all still feels like he’s dead or stuck in some dream. Donghyuck, with plants creeping in the windows and a blue-eyed cat; something out of a fantasy that Mark had somehow wished up. 

And now, on their way to the small town Donghyuck lived just out of, Mark is scared of waking up. Scared that having other people appear would jolt him out of it, that Mark might lose Donghyuck in the crowd and wake up panting in his bed back at HQ—alone again. 

They drive across another pothole and Mark jerks as the bounce of the truck jarrs his knee.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck winces, shooting him an apologetic look that Mark waves off. He sucks in a breath, _in for three then out for three_ , like his physical therapist always reminded him when the pain got too much. Mark had stopped seeing her a month after the tower had collapsed. Taeyong had begged him to go back for days, but Mark couldn’t stand going in every day just to walk out the exact same.

By the time the forest has started to thin, the pain has gone back to a dull ache. Little houses start to pop up here and there, closer together than Donghyuck’s which has no other house in sight. The road widens and splits into bitumen, and soon enough they’re in the middle of the little town. 

He spots a little post office nestled next to a petrol station, watches as a couple of little kids greet an old lady outside a flower boutique, the woman patting their heads fondly and letting them tie the string on a bouquet. Mark’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice they’ve arrived in front of a farmer’s market until Donghyuck shuts off the car’s engine.

There’s no time to be worried, he finds, because Donghyuck’s clambering out of the car only to be immediately intercepted by a middle-aged lady carrying a basket in each hand. Mark hears her happy cry of “Donghyuck-ah” as he pulls himself out of the seat. He rounds the car’s bonnet to see her having placed one of her baskets down to pinch Donghyuck’s cheeks gently. Mark can’t keep the smile off of his mouth at the sight. 

When she finally lets go of Donghyuck’s cheeks, she gestures to Mark, looking between them with an expectant smile. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Mrs Yang, this is Mark. An old friend of mine is staying with me right now. Mark this is Mrs Yang.”

Mark doesn’t have time to mull over Donghyuck’s phrasing of _an old friend_. He extends his hand to Mrs Yang who takes it and squeezes warmly.

“Nice to meet you, Mark. Donghyuck hasn’t brought friends around here since he was a little tot, running around after his grandpa.” Mark gets a nostalgic and blurry shot of kids running around after town and a man with the same eyes as Donghyuck watching them. He pulls back from Donghyuck’s mind to listen to Ms Yang’s next question. “Are you from around here, love?”

“Uh, no ma’am,” he replies. “Moved to Korea when I was eleven, but I’m originally from Canada.”

Her response is just as warm as her smile. “How wonderful. We get folk from all different places in town, so I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Out of the corner of his eye, Mark catches the way that Donghyuck grins, all bright and happy. “We’re happy to have you around, so don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Mark nods, not wanting to disappoint but knowing that he's not going to have a hard time fulfilling the request if everyone in town is as nice as Mrs Yang. He’s gotten used to all the concrete and skyscrapers of Seoul, busy bodies and a city that never sleeps. He had never realised how true the cliche was. _Was this why Donghyuck had moved out here?_

“Well, I must be on my way,” Ms Yang smiles at them while picking up her basket. “Yongsunie’s coming home this weekend and I have to grab a couple of things for the house.”

Donghyuck grins back, and Mark doesn’t miss the way he shifts a little bit closer to Mark. “If I don’t see either of you, will you tell her I said hi?”

“Of course, Donghyuck-ah,” she assures, looking ready to give his cheeks another pinch. “You look after yourself, okay? Don’t go skipping meals or anything?” Mark doesn’t miss the side-eye that she gives him. “Alright then, I’ll leave you to show Mark around.” She gives them a little wave around her baskets. “Don’t be afraid to ask for anything you need!”

“Thank you, Mrs Yang!” Donghyuck calls after her. He turns his grin to Mark when she disappears around a corner, not looking phased for a second. It was normal, Mark supposes, letting his mind drift back to young Donghyuck in HQ having half the workers there wrapped around his finger.

He tries to phrase his next question causally, not wanting to show how curious he really was. “How long have you been coming here for, if she’s known you since you were _a little tot?”_

Donghyuck blushes and Mark can’t deny that it makes him happy to see.

“My grandfather had been living here since before I was born with my grandmother too. I never got to meet her, but I would always come up here in the summer breaks, sometimes with my friends too.”

“It was your grandfather who owned the house, yeah?” Mark asks next, not anticipating the flash of sadness that danced over Donghyuck’s face.

“Yeah. It’s been empty for a couple of years but it’s always been in the family name. _‘You better take care of it when I’m gone,’_ he always used to say. _‘I worked too hard on it for it to go to waste’.”_

“Is that why you moved here?”

Everything goes silent. Mark thinks that’s all he’s going to get, thinks this is the line Donghyuck has drawn in the sand that Mark’s not allowed to cross, to know. Donghyuck surprises him.

“It was the closest thing to home. I couldn’t go back to Jeju because I knew it was the first place that everyone would be looking for me when I disappeared from Seoul.”

Home.

Donghyuck had wanted to come home. _When had Seoul stopped being home?_

Seoul and HQ and the big training arena with its obstacle course; Taeyong taking them out for dinner after a successful mission, the three of them squeezing onto the couch to watch whatever new film had been made about their adventures, throwing popcorn up just to have Taeyong beat them all by snatching it out of the air before they can blink. Somewhere along the line, somehow, all of it had not been Donghyuck’s home anymore.

An ache blooms in his chest. _When had they stopped being what Donghyuck had wanted to come home to, after the day was said and done? How had Donghyuck been able to leave them so easily and pick up another life?_

Donghyuck hadn’t been wrong about searching for him, however. It had taken Mark three months of walking past Donghyuck’s empty bedroom for him to finally snap. He’d barely even realised what he was doing until he was standing on the platform, waiting for the train to come into the station.

The nausea from the ferry ride over to the island hasn’t been able to overpower the shaky desperation in his chest. Mark didn’t have control over the shameful thread of hope bleeding through his chest anymore. It doesn’t abate even as he hops off, or on the bus ride down. It’s only when Donghyuck’s father opens the door, and his eyes fill with regret does the hope draw its final, heaving gasp.

It’s replaced with a terrible longing that etched itself under his skin, seeping down between his ribs and right into his heart. Watching Donghyuck’s face now, Mark’s not quite sure the longing has gone away yet. Not when he’s still not fully convinced that it all isn’t some dream he’s going to wake from any moment.

He reaches to pinch his forearm hard. A bird trills in a nearby tree and a bell on someone’s shop door jingles. Mark doesn’t wake up and he tries to let some relief sink in next to the longing and the shame.

The sun is warm on their backs as they wander through the market, Donghyuck producing bags out of nowhere and filling them up for Mark to carry. There’s a kind lady at the fruit stall who ruffles Donghyuck’s hair and an elderly man who gives them an extra cut of pork with a wink. A couple of little kids gather around him to show Donghyuck their toys, only backing off when their fathers come over to tug them away.

They’re just loading things into the back of the truck, Donghyuck laughing at Mark hefting up a bag of potatoes— _”where have your muscles gone, Lee?”_ —when a voice calls out Donghyuck’s name. Mark’s starting to think that Donghyuck has been adopted by half the town. Not that he’s surprised at all. He’s starting to get a little overwhelmed by the number of people who know Donghyuck.

A man with smile lines carved around his eyes is waving them over from a building on the street’s corner, the sign overhead reading ‘Danji Restaurant’. Donghyuck turns to Mark with a bright smile. “After all that heavy lifting, would you like some lunch?” He’s already tugging Mark over. “They have the best bibimbap you’ve ever had, I promise.”

“You flatter me, Donghyuck-ah,” the man’s smile lines deepen as he grins, waving them inside. And just like that, Mark finds himself sitting at the counter, people bustling around them.

After he’d show them their seats, the man had moved over to the register to take a couple of orders. Mark takes a moment to draw in the restaurant around him. There’s only a couple of stools at the counter, tables and chairs scattered around the rest of the shop in groups of twos and fours. Mark had sighed when he had sat down, not even realising how much he had been overworking his left leg until it finally got a rest.

Donghyuck glances over at him at the sound of Mark’s sigh, gaze flicking between the hand Mark has massaging his knee and his face. Before he can say anything, the man with the smile lines shouts something over to the kitchen and makes his way over to them. It doesn’t stop the worry from clouding in Donghyuck’s face. Mark wishes he could make the expression go away.

“I’ve ordered you your usual, Donghyuck, if that’s alright with your friend.” Mark nods and the man grins. “Kang Insoo,” he supplies, reaching out a hand for Mark to shake. “I hope you like bibimbap.”

“Mark Lee,” he returns with a smile, dipping his head in a little bow. “And, yes, I love bibimbap, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” He turns to Donghyuck next, squinting playfull if the fond grin on Mr Kang’s lips is anything to go by. “Now where have you been, young man? The oldies sure missed you at our meeting yesterday.”

“Ah.” Suddenly Donghyuck found the napkins on the table very interesting, resolutely avoiding the look Mark directed at him. “Do they know you call them _oldies_?” he asked, trying for nonchalance and just falling short. 

“Old folk, oldies,” Mr Kang shrugged, “all the same anyway. But seriously, is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, everything is okay. Just had a couple of things to do around the house, that’s all.”

Mark. Donghyuck had had to deal with Mark showing up on his doorstep out of the blue because Taeyong had somehow decided to reveal that Donghyuck was alive. Donghyuck had had to deal with Mark’s jerkiness, the awkwardness between them, his stupid messed up knee failing him. Donghyuck had done it all without mentioning once that he’d had somewhere to be, a whole life apart from Mark and being a goddamn superhero.

He wants to know if anyone in the town knows how many times Donghyuck has saved the world. If anyone knows that the boy they’re patting on the head and teasing good-naturedly and making bowls of bibimbap for has spent years patrolling around Seoul in a suit.

Probably not.

He doesn’t have the courage to ask.

Mark shifts in his seat and hisses as it jolts his leg. Mr Kang turns to him, assessing. As he catches the way Mark holds his knee, his smile turns a little wistful, understanding breaking across his face that had shame bleeding into Mark’s skin.

“You alright there, son?”

His heart speeds up a little at the thought of getting caught. “Yeah, uh, I’m okay.”

“How long has your leg been bothering you?”

Mark’s breath catches in his throat. No one has ever asked so straightforwardly. But there’s a kind warmth in Mr Kang’s face that has Mark answering before he can even question it. “It's been a couple of months now.”

“While in the field?”

For a second, Mark starts to doubt the idea that no one knows about Donghyuck being Haechan. But then he spots the plaque hanging over the register, the inscription honouring Kang Insoo for his bravery and dedicated service. Suddenly, he understands what Mr Kang is trying to say.

“Not exactly, but something like that.”

Mr Kang glances between them, realisation dawning. “You two served together.” It’s not a question but Mark nods anyway. “Well, you should bring him along to the next meeting. I’m sure the oldies would love to share all their war stories to another set of fresh ears.” A bell dings and he glances over to the kitchen. “Let me grab your guys’ food.”

As soon as Mr Kang’s back is turned, Donghyuck shifts towards Mark, face apologetic. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like talking about your leg—”

“He mentioned a meeting,” Mark cuts off, trying to calm his heart down.

Donghyuck takes the cue and leans back to take a sip from his drink. “Ah, that. It’s kind of a community meeting we have every month or so, usually on the first Sunday of each month. It’s not really formal or anything but we get together and talk, sometimes plan some events or parades around the holidays.”

“And there’s _oldies_ with war stories?” He tries for casual and succeeds. Mostly.

“He’s talking about some of the older folk in town. There’s a lot of veterans around here, like Mr Kang, and they’re always eager to recount their glory days.”

“How did he know, Mr Kang I mean. How did he know that you— that we used to fight together?” Mark blurts out, because the question had slipped between his teeth before he could reel it back in.

“I— I never told them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Donghyuck’s Adam's apple bobs. “Nobody knows that I— _who_ I used to be.”

The silence stretches—heavy and stifling—and then breaks with the click of bowls against the counter. Mark’s eyes dart up to see Mr Kang standing there. His mind is still reeling from Donghyuck’s words, a million new questions rising inside him. Like usual he squashes them down, piling them into a box and shelving them away. 

As promised, the bibimbap is delicious and Mr Kang’s safer line of questioning is enough to distract Mark away from his brain’s chattering. They leave with a container of kimchi and a vow to Mr Kang that they will visit again soon. If the man’s smile lines and gentle understanding is anything to go by, Mark would be glad to see him again.

“Are you alright to head over to the post office?” Donghyuck asks as they step out into the sunshine. “It’s a block down and it will be the last place, I promise,” he continues when he spots the expression on Mark’s face.

He concedes before Donghyuck tries to bring out his pout, deciding that his leg can take one last walk. The sun has climbed higher in the sky since they set out that morning, alone except for a couple of white clouds dotting the horizon. Mark lets himself take in the town, with all its little shops and trees along the sidewalk.

They’re just turning a corner when a scream rips its way through the air and dread shoots its way up Mark’s spine so fast it's a wonder that he doesn’t crumble under the weight of it.

All of his training is bouncing around in his head, ready to call Taeyong, to get his suit. His body tries to react, trying to scan the area for the threat, trying to prepare itself to face danger; but he can’t see anything through the haze that’s settled over his eyes. 

The scream is ringing in his ears.

He tries to reach for Donghyuck, to pull him to the ground—to protect—but his knee buckles. Mark’s heart rate is skyrocketing, unseeing as he’s suddenly jerked back to a familiar rooftop. 

The wind is lashing around them and there are people screaming. Jinx stands over them, eyes bright green and deadly, and Mark is frozen in place. A lady cries out, straining against her restraints. He has to save them. To something. He’s been protecting them for so long now, he’s a superhero that they look to in times of need; he can fix a hostage situation,

But he can’t move. Mark’s stuck and his throat is drawn tight like a bow string and he can’t breathe. Grappling for a moment, his arms flail a little and Mark tries to direct his attention to Jinx. To try and get inside her head. But the next moment, the rooftop is crumbling beneath him and he loses sight of everything, terrified cries piercing his ears until they’re the only thing he can hear.

“—hear me? Mark!”

Mark doesn’t realise he’s closed his eyes until he has to pry them open to look up at who is calling him. Donghyuck’s face is swimming before him. The screams are still ringing in his ears.

“Are you okay?”

Mark can’t answer. His throat feels constricted.

He takes another look at Donghyuck hovering in front of him. The film over his eyes clears enough so that Mark can recognise the street and can scan his eyes over Donghyuck’s form to check for injury. His heart beat still hasn’t calmed down. Donghyuck looks worried, his eyebrows drawn together, but okay. Not in pain. Not bleeding. Not stuck below piles of rubble and slabs of concrete.

He’s okay.

Everything’s okay.

_Thank god._

Mark sits down, because Donghyuck is alright and his leg has given up on holding his weight.

Distantly, as if he were watching someone else in his body, Mark registers the hard concrete of the sidewalk underneath thim. Feels Donghyuck’s grip on his forearms as the younger follows him to the ground, and feels the way his lungs are straining from the lack of oxygen. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Donghyuck says as if he can read Mark’s mind—which he probably could—steadying a hand against Mark’s shoulder for support. “Just breathe, hyung.”

Donghyuck’s eyes are a deep, warm brown, and the map of freckles across his cheeks as familiar as the palm of Mark’s hand.

With all the effort he can muster, Mark tries to follow Donghyuck’s instruction—he really does. But his throat has tied itself in knots and he can’t seem to get air in. Gentle fingers slide around his wrist, bringing Mark’s hand up to press his palm against the plane of Donghyuck’s chest. Mark can feel the boy’s heartbeat under his fingers, feel the way it’s jumping and pounding against Donghyuck’s ribs.

“Follow my breaths, alright. In for three just _1, 2, 3,”_ and Donghyuck’s chest expands against Mark’s palm, “and out five _5, 4, 3, 2, 1_ — that’s it, hyung, match my breathing.”

They repeat the process until Mark’s lungs no longer ache. Donghyuck’s heart has slowed under Mark’s fingertips, the slow thud grounding Mark; assuring him that everything was okay. Donghyuck’s fingers still circle Mark’s wrist, the touch soft and warm.

“Better?”

Mark nods, swallowing around his dry throat. 

“Would you be able to tell me what happened?” Donghyuck questions tenderly and Mark can’t not answer because those brown eyes are worried and _so_ kind.

“There was– I was remembering that day because there was a scream–” it’s in that moment that Mark spots a playground over Donghyuck’s shoulder, kids climbing the miniature rock walls and squealing, _squealing as they went down the slide._ Mark’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest and shame burns bright across his skin.

A wave of bone-deep exhaustion settles over Mark’s shoulders and he slumps forward like a puppet who has had its strings cut. Donghyuck’s hand runs over Mark’s back while drawing gentle circles—holding him up. They sit there, the sun on the back of their necks, until Mark has regained enough of his strength to lift up his head.

“You’re safe now, hyung, I promise.”

Mark draws in a breath and lets it out slowly.

“Do you want me to take you home? I’ll bring the car round, or piggyback, we’ll figure something out.”

Mark’s brain is back on board again, haze gone. “But the post office–”

“We can come another day,” Donghyuck reassures. 

It sounds so appealing. Climbing back into the truck and letting it all seep away as he lets the stress bleed out of him. He thinks of Fig curled up on his lap, of the cottage’s big windows and soft couches. But then there’s the shame, tight across Mark’s ribcage; the humiliation of freaking out that won’t let him cave that easily.

“It’s one last thing, just like you said,” and he can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure Donghyuck or himself. “I promise I’ll be fine.

Donghyuck looks skeptical but can’t argue as Mark wobbles to his feet. He holds onto Mark the entire way, arm gentle around Mark’s waist and gaze darting over to him every few seconds. The bell lets out a ding as they push open the door, and an old lady smiles at them from behind the counter. 

Mark’s in no state to deal with meeting another one of Donghyuck’s friends. Not when he feels like an oil tank next to an open match, one wrong step enough to tip him right over. So he breathlessly asks if there’s a bathroom he may use.

There’s a door in the back of the store which the lady points him to and Donghyuck releases him when Mark pats the hands around his waist in reassurance. The door clicks as the lock slides shut and Mark presses his forehead against the cool surface of the wall, contemplating whether or not to laugh or cry.

The world is caving in, piece by piece, and not for the first time, he considers running to the nearest pay phone and frantically dialing Taeyong. He would have answers for the horrid jumble of emotion battling in Mark’s chest. Mark grips the basin between his fingers and tries to remember how to breathe.

He should sit down. He doesn’t.

Instead he looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His lips look chapped, dark circles underlining each eye. There’s something tired and vacant in his gaze that he’s noticed since the first time he had been able to pull himself out of the hospital bed, gripping Taeyong’s arm the whole time. The same sad look Mark had refused to accept, to surrender himself too, even as his knee was branded with an unsalvageable diagnosis.

Whispers of _‘lucky to be alive’_ and _‘paid a great duty to your planet’_ rattle around in his head. Mark had known what they had truly meant, even then. No full recovery, no possibility of reaching the heights he used to or fighting like he had done. Mark’s time was over, no matter how much Taeyong had reassured him that they could still use him, that he could be in the field—take a non-combat role.

It had all been for nothing, if Mark had been able to fall so easily.

He sucks in a breath and watches his chest expand.

It’s all very silent and strange.

Then he remembers Donghyuck outside; the worry in the boy’s eyes, the hands that had held him so gently. He takes two more deep breaths and then pushes off the counter. It takes a second for his fingers to relax after gripping the sink so tightly. He squares his shoulders, ignores his knee and pushes open the door.

There’s a wall of stationary to his left, and prepaid envelopes and packages to his right. He spots Donghyuck over at the counter, chatting with the old lady, fingers fidgeting behind his back. When he glances over to see Mark standing there, he smiles, not even trying to mask the relief that floods his face.

Mark starts to make his way over when the shop bell rattles, and a boy their age steps through.

“Donghyuck!” he smiles. “I thought I saw the old truck around, but wasn’t sure because you almost always walk into town. Getting too lazy, huh?” The boy’s grin is mischievous but not unkind, and he throws his arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders like they’re good friends.

Which they probably are, Mark reminds himself.

Donghyuck lets out a little laugh and rolls his eyes. “It’s grocery day, Renjun, sue me for not wanting to lug everything all the way home.”

Mark wonders if he himself and his stupid leg have anything to do with Donghyuck’s decision to drive in, then decides that he’s had enough humiliation for one day.

He gets introduced to all of them, when Donghyuck finally extracts himself from Renjun’s grasp. The lady behind the counter is Ms Huang, who owns the little post office and who is also Renjun’s grandmother. There’s another boy mentioned, who seems to be Renjun’s cousin, but Mark never catches the name. 

When they ask him how he is, he keeps his answers short, the exhaustion back full force. They don’t seem to mind, other than Donghyuck who shoots him worried looks every five seconds. A few minutes pass, and then Donghyuck and Ms Huang head round back to collect something—maybe a parcel, but Mark’s not quite sure—and Renjun moves around to take over the counter in their absence.

Mark lets his eyes wander around as a couple of customers trickle in, taking in the countertop and the little stack of greeting cards to buy for your loved ones. The customers are chatting happily with Renjun but Mark doesn’t have enough energy to tune into it. And then he spots something, a stack of papers in a stand.

His face, adorned in his suit and orange mask, is plastered across the front page of the newspaper and the title splayed across the top has his stomach churning with dread. It sends a shock through him, There’s two pictures alongside it, an image of the Han Tower in ruins and a blurry picture of Jinx. His throat is tight.

He catches a couple of lines, _building collapse, severe injuries,_ and _civilian casualties._ Each of the words burrow deeper under Mark’s skin. He can’t seem to breathe again.

A voice jerks him back to reality, someone stepping in front of him and blocking his line of sight—shielding him from the words stamped across the newspaper. He can’t tell what the voice is saying at first, only registering the fingers that settle over Mark’s wrists, encompassing his shaking hands.

“No, no, that’s okay, Ms Huang. No newspaper, thank you.” 

Never has Mark been more glad to hear Donghyuck’s voice. He manages to wrap his fingers around Donghyuck’s palm and squeeze. Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to squeeze back and Mark feels as some of the dread seeps out of his chest. He says something to Ms Huang that Mark is too overwhelmed to hear.

The memory of the front cover burns hot in his mind. Mark should be back in Seoul, should be at HQ trying to figure out how to get back on the field in spite of his knee. He shouldn’t be in this little town, getting offered discounts at farmer’s markets and sharing bibimbap. Not when he’s needed. Not when he’s already failed so many people.

_You’re still failing them,_ whispers a sly voice from the back of his mind.

“I think it’s time to go home.” This voice is gentle and reassuring and familiar. Mark wants to lean into it, fall into Donghyuck’s chest and let him chase away all the thoughts. But he deserves to feel this way. Deserves to feel guilty for what he’s done.

When Mark doesn’t respond, Donghyuck simply loops an arm around Mark’s waist, other hand still intertwined with Mark’s.

Mark doesn’t know how they end up in the car, can only remember wincing every time his left foot landed on the pavement. The truck’s seats are just as he remembers them when he sinks into them, letting his exhaustion finally seep into his bones and pin him to the chair.

Even as the trees start to multiply and the houses become lost among them, Mark can’t get the title out of his head. The bolded words were burned into his brain. Splayed across to top of the ‘Sunday Post’ were the words that had made bile rise in the back of his throat.

**Defeated Hero: Is _Figment_ Gone For Good?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, chapter two has come to a close!
> 
> I am honestly having so much fun writing this (and have cried five times while preparing for later chapters, this is a warning) so I hope you guys are enjoying this too!! The biggest thank you to [San](https://twitter.com/solhyuckie) and the always lovely, Chu, whose support means the world!
> 
> Have wonderful days, lovelies, and look after yourselves!!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/fiddle_styyx) | [tmblr](https://fiddle-styx.tumblr.com/) | [messy pinterest inspo](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ldh_baobei/superheroes/)


	3. Incubo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There should be just one safe place in the world, I mean this world. People get hurt here. People fall down and stay down and I don’t like the way the song goes._  
>  — Richard Siken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW | PTSD**
> 
> Chu kicked me into action in finishing the last scenes so (as always) we must give a massive thanks to her. I don’t know if this fic would exist without her support. (Wait, she got me into NCT. This definitely wouldn’t exist).

On the third day, Mark starts to think he should be worried.

Even since Donghyuck had all but carried Mark from the truck into the house, gently manoeuvring Fig out of the way to settle him on the couch, something had felt off. As if he was a note out of tune with the rest of the world or like someone had reached inside his chest and shuffled around all his organs so that his liver ended up in his shoulder and his heart fell all the way down into the tips of his toes. 

They haven’t talked about it—collapsing on the sidewalk and freaking out over newspapers apparently too heavy for dinner conversation. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, because Mark should be used to it by now, used to how closely Donghyuck guards his words and how much he has locked away for Mark to never touch. Mark is only allowed to watch from afar, settled in an arm-chair or on the porch swing as Donghyuck moves around the house. 

It’s been worse than the days they had spent around each other after Mark had arrived because this time there’s not just longing and confusion swirling in his chest; the shame is deeper, sharper, carved so far into his skin that his throat burns with it. Donghyuck had seen a part of his heart, a sliver of the darkest thoughts hidden in the corners of his mind, the memories that were branded across the inside of his skull. He had seen Mark crumble to nothing at the mere sound of a child’s scream and burn with mortification at a couple of printed words from the press.

There had been worse things printed about Mark, worse things about all three of them spilling from news outlets and media sources. 

The days that the villains—or _god help them,_ Jinx herself—got the upper hand, each reporter would have a field day with all three of them. Taeyong and the poisonous gas tanks a couple of years back, the warehouse that had exploded, the entire week that Donghyuck had been captured. His disappearance only two days after they had managed to rescue him had only heightened the voices with the media falling into a true frenzy when Donghyuck had stayed missing.

Forums had started to grow and never really stopped, video upon video filling the internet with speculations and conspiracy theories on where one of Seoul’s superheroes had gone. The world had been just as desperate as Mark was to find Donghyuck.

A month after the building’s collapse, Mark had spotted a newsstand carrying copies of the Daily Bulletin with the words “Will Our Famed _Figment_ ever Bother to Return?” and promptly speed up his footsteps to shove down the bile rising in the back of his throat. A couple of days later, a news presenter had done a segment asking coyly if Figment “was looking to follow in the footsteps of _Haechan_ and become a thing of the past” before Taeyong had slammed his hand on the remote and the television screen had gone black.

None of the news had ever been able to keep any of their names, or rather aliases, out of their headlines. Mark supposes it’s easier when the three of them are all hidden behind masks and suits and no one can put a face to their flashy superhero names. Easy to forget, when everyone is so focused on each of their gifts, that the three of them are still human. 

What a shock Mark had given them all when he had finally fallen and hadn’t been able to get up? When he had failed them all, beaten down by the _bad guy_ and allowing them all to use his name—Mark’s title as a hero—in the past tense. Not for the first time, Mark wishes to be gone, to fade away, to be _nothing._

Then, maybe, his sacrifice would have been worth something and he could stop feeling like he’d missed the last chapter of a book and fallen just short of the climax. Then everyone could have the wake that they truly wanted to have for their hero Figment, mourn him properly instead of having him still walk among them. Instead of being just there, too broken to fight for them anymore, but not broken enough for them to properly unleash him.

Mark lies awake against his eggshell yellow bed sheets and desperately tries to breathe under the weight of it all pressing his body into the mattress.

He can’t understand how Donghyuck had been able to deal with walking away; how he could build a new life and smile at locals and choose the ripest fruits at the market so casually. How did Donghyuck manage to live without the shadow of _Haechan_ looming over him? For a split second—in between all the lingering hysteria and fuelled by the horrible mortification he feels—Mark feels anger rise up in him again.

Mark shoves it away before it can take root. Even if he desperately wants to take Donghyuck by the shoulders and demand him to explain, shake him until he offers Mark answers. Until Mark didn’t feel so lost in the expanse of words they both left unsaid.

His heart still feels scattered somewhere inside him with all of his organs rattled around. Mark presses a hand to his sternum, grinding his palm down hard. It doesn’t alleviate the ache. Mark’s starting to think that nothing will.

* * *

From where Mark’s standing in the kitchen, he can spot the tensed line of Donghyuck’s shoulders and the shirt hanging loosely over his back where Donghyuck is hunched over his desk. His shoulders are drawn tightly together, bunched up and strained. He’s been like that ever since Mark came down the stairs, working on something in one of his many notebooks.

There’s something niggling in the back of Mark’s brain; memories of a stressed Donghyuck back at HQ, fussing over mission plans or one of the many clashes that the three of them had with the government. Donghyuck would grow quiet, withdrawing to their planning room and spend hours flicking through their computers.

And when it would grow to be too much and the little crease of worry between Taeyong’s eyebrows would deepen, Mark would have appeared to coax Donghyuck away from the keyboard. To sling an arm around the younger’s shoulders and drag him out for some food while Donghyuck whined and grumbled, all the while leaning further into Mark’s side. And Taeyong would find them later, curled up on the couch asleep with Mark’s guitar scattered to the side.

After years by his side, Mark had gotten the act of bringing Donghyuck back to the land of the living down to an art. But that was then. Now there’s a whole ocean between them, years that they’ve lost, and some mornings Mark can barely recognise himself in the mirror. 

Mark has no idea how to help Donghyuck know, especially when he’s pretty sure that the sharp tense in the boy’s shoulders has something to do with him.

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck tells him that evening after a day of heavy silences. He’s picking at the food in his bowl with his chopsticks, sliding it around but never actually taking a bite.

Mark tilts his head to the side, confused. “What for?”

“The other day, when we went to town,” he starts and there’s guilt woven across Donghyuck’s face, so strong that Mark can feel its tendrils wounds through Donghyuck’s mind. Mark’s throat tightens. “I shouldn’t have made you come into town with me—”

“You didn’t _make_ me though—”

Donghyuck doesn’t seem to hear him because he just continues, “— I should have realised that you were uncomfortable. I could have stopped before had to go through all of that, but I just kept pushing—”

“What are you talking about?”

Donghyuck goes to keep talking but Mark reaches across to grab his wrist. “Hey, hey, just stop for a moment.”

Donghyuck’s eyes snap up to him and his emotions feel so much stronger now that Mark is touching him. They’re pulsing up against Mark’s own mind, memories of that day flickering through Donghyuck’s mind into his, the worry and fear that the younger had felt as Mark collapsed on the sidewalk.

“Stop thinking,” Mark gritted out, trying to separate their thoughts. More guilt joins the fabric of Donghyuck’s thoughts and Mark aches with it. “Just listen to me for a moment, please.” His grip on Donghyuck’s wrist tightens involuntarily. “I don’t— it’s not your fault. What happened while we were in town, me freaking out, it wasn’t your fault.”

“But I—”

“No, stop, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Donghyuck doesn’t look like he believes Mark at all. “We should have gone home after lunch, I don’t know why I insisted on going to the post office, god, it was all just my fau—”

“That’s not true,” Mark insists, wishing again that he knew how to calm the tension in Donghyuck’s shoulders like he used to. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I agreed to come to town with you and to go to the post office. It was me who said I would be okay after what happened at the playground.”

“We should have just gone home. I knew that your leg was hurting you and I should have insisted that we just head home.”

Mark couldn’t help the twist in his heart at the mention of his leg. “My leg was fine, I’m not that useless.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—” and it takes everything in Mark to ignore the guilt permeating from him.

“It wasn’t you who messed up in town, Donghyuck, it just was me. It was all me and my stupid leg and because I’m freaking broken and—” His words are all jumbled in his throat just like his insides.

Suddenly there are hands holding his shoulders. “You’re _not_ broken, Mark Lee,” says Donghyuck with so much conviction that Mark almost believes it himself. “You’re not broken, because broken means that you need to be fixed and you _don’t_.” There’s fire blazing in Donghyuck’s gaze—burning and captivating—and Mark couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. It makes Mark feel alight with it, the burn palpable and encompassing and ready to fill the room; everything Donghyuck always is.

“You’re not broken,” he murmurs one last time, softly but fervently, as if he was casting a spell. His palms shift to cup the side of Mark’s neck ever so gently as he speaks. For once, the connection Mark has into his mind runs clear—Mark too overwhelmed to try and suppress it—and he feels every inch of what Donghyuck is trying to tell him through it.

Mark doesn’t believe him, _knows_ that he doesn’t work properly and hasn’t for a while; that the fall didn’t just break his knee but also broke parts inside him that he doesn’t know how to put back together. But in that moment, cradled between Donghyuck’s palms, Mark feels something slot back into place in his chest. His lungs expand, _deep breath in through his mouth, out for five,_ and his heart thuds steadily between his ribs.

* * *

When the sun slinks back behind the trees, Donghyuck drifts over to a cupboard in the living room, opening it to reveal a stack of DVDs. Mark understands the question before the younger has to voice anything, smiling to himself at the familiarity and wave of nostalgia it brings.

“Sure, I’m down for a movie. It’s been ages since I’ve sat down to watch something.” He finds his way into one of the armchairs and watches Donghyuck flick through the cases.

“Me neither. They’re not as much fun on your own.”

There’s a little tug of something in his chest at Donghyuck’s words that Mark refused to acknowledge. “Yeah,” he says quietly, not quite he meant to say it.

Even facing the cupboard, Mark can see the red that rises up Donghyuck’s neck. “Uh, yeah, Fig’s not fond of them either,” Donghyuck manages to get out when the silence starts to build. “Too much noise, I think.” Mark nods, scared of what else might come out if he were to open his mouth.

It’s the reason Donghyuck gives for why they choose an indie film instead of an action flick _— “the gunshots make her jump, y’know” —_ but there’s something odd in the set of his face that unsettles something inside of Mark. He says it all a little too casually, not meeting Mark’s eye, and the older doesn’t know what to make of it all.

Fig licks Donghyuck’s chin when she climbs into his lap and Mark is too preoccupied with trying to stifle his laughter at the face Donghyuck makes that it slips his mind.

Mark almost expects Donghyuck to start throwing popcorn at him and laugh at him in that teasing tone he loved to use— _oh Canada, you’re such a dork—_ always so warm and lovely that Mark could never be annoyed. But they’re different people now, or at least, the time they’ve missed the way they’ve both grown in the time apart. Instead they get these moments together: settled between blankets on Donghyuck’s couches, a film about a family and their old farm, and her Fig stretched out in Donghyuck’s arms—all loose and floppy.

It’s warm and gentle and if there wasn’t so much left unsaid, it might even be peaceful. Mark finds himself sinking into the couch all the same, curling his right foot up to tuck it under his thigh. Only ten minutes in, Mark catches Donghyuck yawning twice and has to hide a smile behind his hand. At the twenty-minute mark, Donghyuck’s head has fallen back against the pillows and he’s resorted to blinking slowly. His yawning is mirrored by Mark’s, his sleepiness infectious.

One of the little girls on the television finds a stray horse in the woods but Mark finds himself drifting off before he gets to see the family’s reaction to her bringing it home. The expanse of sleep encompasses him and for once, his mind is blissfully free from nightmares. He dreams of worlds gentle and soft, a haze of light settled over him that seeps into his bones.

It all falls apart in an instant.

A flash of light has Mark jerking up from his chair, blankets toppling off him and every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He’s used to waking up this way—gasping as his nightmare plays on a loop in the back of his mind—but this time it’s something else that pulls him out of sleep, that has his heart racing in his chest.

But then his gaze lands on the television, registering the strike of thunder ringing out from its speakers, and his shoulders slouch instantly. Mark tries to remind himself to breathe. Because the family on their farm have been caught in a storm, the stable doors ringing as they slam against the wall and _that’s all, that’s all there is and there’s no reason to freak out,_ _it’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s—_

A noise has his eyes flying back open— _when did they close?_ —and then Mark spots Donghyuck. The air in his lungs freezes.

The boy is curled tight like a spring, pressing back into the pillows, eyes wild and unseeing. Mark can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way he flinches sharply as the screen flashes bright, and Mark is on his feet before he realises it. He crosses the distance from the armchair to the couch in a second, faster even than Taeyong would have been.

For a moment, his hands hang uselessly in the air, not knowing if he’s allowed to touch. Something in his heart breaks when Donghyuck flinches at Mark sitting beside him. 

“Sorry, shit—” Mark’s tongue feels like a lead weight in his mouth. “Hyuck,” he tries again, voice barely more than a whisper, _“Donghyuck-ah.”_

Donghyuck’s shoulders are shaking and there’s nothing else that Mark wants more than to be able to hold him.

“Hyuck, can I — could you… are you okay?” his voice sounds as frantic as he feels. 

But then, slowly, something in the set of Donghyuck’s face shifts and his grip on his blankets tightens. “Mark-hyung?”

Mark is so relieved that he could cry. 

“Yeah, yeah, Hyuck-ah, it’s me, it’s—” and it suddenly doesn’t matter what he was going to say because the cloud over Donghyuck’s gaze lifts and he’s looking up at Mark’s face with those beautiful, dark brown eyes. There’s fear dousing Donghyuck’s whole body—Mark can hear it sharp and jagged in his mind—but there’s a flood of relief too that matches his own. A hand finds its way into Mark’s and his arms ache to wind their way around Donghyuck’s body just like they’ve always done. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to so instead he threads their fingers together, squeezing tight.

_“Donghyuck-ah,”_ Mark whispers, with worry coating every syllable.

Before Donghyuck can respond the room lights up with another flash of light, the heavy crash of thunder from the television echoing around the room. As Donghyuck’s knuckles turn white, Mark catches the glimpse of a memory—a dark room with a horrid smell, the screech of a metal chair against concrete, and the intense, terrifying feeling of being trapped, stuck alone, _no escape, no one’s here to save you now—_

Mark feels like he’s going to be sick.

He reaches for the TV remote blindly, trying to blink away the tendrils of Donghyuck’s memories— _pain,_ and _desperation,_ and _someone please just—_

Mark barely notices the way the Donghyuck’s grip on his hand tightens.

_“Mark, Mark-hyung don’t g—”_

“I’m not, I’m not— I promise, I’m right here, Hyuck. I’m just, just turning it off—” his fingers fumble over the buttons until the screen goes black, “see, see that’s all,” he whispers.

The room is silent without the sound from the television and even though he’s gripping Donghyuck’s hand, Mark feels useless. They’ve drawn closer together in Mark’s scrabble to see if he was okay; Donghyuck’s body is turned towards Mark’s, their shoulders brushing together as Mark hovers next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark spots Fig poised on the couch next to them, eyes as wide as Donghyuck’s had been. Slowly he draws in a breath, trying to remind himself to breathe.

He gives Donghyuck’s hand a gentle squeeze and waits until the younger’s gaze shifts over to him. “Are you alright?”

Donghyuck’s mouth opens and then falls shut, lips twitching. He nods.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice rough like radio static.

Mark can’t keep his next words from tumbling out. “What happened?”

For a second, Donghyuck looks lost, and Mark can feel the moment that the situation dawns on him. 

“It’s nothing, nothing, hyung,” he’s saying, even though his eyes are wide and his hand is still gripping Mark’s. “It’s not— uh, not important. Just— just a bad dream, that’s all.”

Something sharp twists in Mark’s heart. He knows it’s not true, knows that there’s more to what happened than just a bad dream—that it’s _important—_ but Donghyuck has retreated back to where Mark can no longer reach him. The door is once again clicked shut with Mark locked outside. 

Their fingers, however, are still intertwined between them so Mark lets it go. If this is all he gets, maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s enough to just be able to hold Donghyuck’s hand again. _God,_ Mark has wished for a moment like this for so long, to simply be close enough and be able to touch Donghyuck one more time. 

So he swallows his tongue, squeezes Donghyuck’s hand tight and tries to ignore all the words left unsaid. The room they take up in his heart is enough to bare with. For now.

* * *

Weeding, Mark finds out, is easier than he thought it was. 

When Donghyuck had left him with a pair of worn gloves and a small shovel half an hour ago, Mark had spent a full five minutes simply staring at them. But the roses are low to the ground and a summer breeze dances across his back and it’s easy, he finds, to pick out the spots of green and bindweed that don't belong.

Mark thinks that Donghyuck could sense that he needed something to do. Mark is the one who can read people’s minds, but Donghyuck has always had a sixth sense for things like this. And Mark doesn’t have to use his leg at all—which he tries to think about gratefully instead of allowing the cool bite of shame to work its way under his skin. 

The roses are pretty and flutter in the breeze and Mark finds himself wondering what they would say if they could talk. He wonders if there’s a superhuman out there who could talk to plants or see into their thoughts like Mark could.

Back at HQ it had just been the three of them. There were others Mark was sure of it. Jinx had painfully demonstrated that there were others out there, others with powers and anomalies. But from the day that Taeyong had found him—fourteen and bursting with passion to fight, to make a difference—it had only been the three of them. Taeyong had taken one look at him and the way Mark’s eyes flashed a blazing orange, and tugged him out of the dingy alleyway.

Their headquarters back then had only been Taeyong’s studio apartment but among those four walls, Mark had found his family. Taeyong who had taken him in without a second thought and Donghyuck, funny and tinier than Mark but with the same burning desire to prove himself, to help. _“You’re one of us,”_ Donghyuck had told him, and in that moment everything that had been rattling around inside him since he was little and confused by the cacophony of thoughts that weren’t his own clicked into place.

And so the three of them had started out, donning the masks and hoods Taeyong had insisted on and trying to help where they could. Somewhere along the way it had grown into something bigger than any of them—a trio to defend Seoul, fictional superheroes come to life. But even as they grew, moving from Taeyong’s apartment to HQ, their equipment evolving, it was the three of them together. At the end of the day. Until Donghyuck had left.

_And now he’s back,_ Mark tries to tell himself, clutching the thought in his mind with both hands. _He’s here._

_But he still hasn’t come home,_ whispered from the dark corners of Mark’s mind.

Mark pulls up a weed roughly and ignores the voice. Donghyuck is home, he’s safe, he’s okay. Donghyuck’s home might not be with Mark anymore, and Mark has to be okay with that because he’s not sure that he can be anything else.

He’s got a well of _not okay_ drilled into his heart and over the years he’s covered it up board by board and he’s not sure what would happen if he dug it all up and looked inside. _Not okay_ is something Mark was only allowed to feel in the safety of HQ when there was Taeyong to cook for them and Donghyuck was there to hold him. So he’s okay with it.

If the weeds could speak, they would be screaming right now. 

One of the stalks is twisted in his fist, mangled as Mark had been lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, he’s glad that his mind-reading is limited to humans; they’re loud enough to deal with on a good day. And there would be no point trying to manipulate a plant’s thoughts anyway. 

The rose beds are becoming clearer as Mark digs out the bindweeds. When he catches his finger on one of the roses thorns for a third time he lets out a hiss, sucking his thumb into his mouth.

“Ah shit,” he mumbles around his thumb. “Oh wait, gloves?” They’re sitting in the grass next to him and Mark wants to punch himself. Fig meows at him from where she’s curled next to a bush sun-baking. “Don’t you laugh at me too.” She meows again, lifting her head to set her blue eyes on him. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m an idiot.”

“Finally admitting it, huh?”

Mark accidentally drops the shovel on his toe.

“Wait, shi— sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

When Mark looks up, Donghyuck is standing on the porch looking genuinely apologetic so Mark throws him a smile. “No, no, it’s okay,” Mark tries to reassure him. 

Donghyuck doesn’t look reassured— _you’re such a worrywart_ they used to tell Taeyong as he patted them down after their patrolling. Mark pushes the memory away. “I’m fine, promise.”

“If you say so.” He’s stepped off the porch towards Mark now. Somewhere in between their talking he had been slowly edging closer so that he stands only a couple of steps away from where Mark is still cross-legged in front of the flower beds. “Still working on the roses?”

“Ah, yes. Turns out it’s not as hard as I thought.”

“You thought weeding was going to be hard?” Donghyuck’s grin looks half a second away from a laugh.

“Well it’s not like you gave me much instruction,” Mark tries to counter, “you just handed me some tools and left.”

Donghyuck takes a little step forward. “You looked lonely on the couch all by yourself.”

“And you thought I would find some company in the roses?”

“Fig is here too,” Donghyuck pouts. Fig’s white coat glints in the sun as if to make his point.

“Well, you got me there. Fig definitely makes for the best company around here.”

That has Donghyuck’s pout deepening. “That’s not fair, she can’t even talk.”

“That’s the point,” and that has Donghyuck reaching out to whack his shoulder and Mark’s straight face crumbles under his fondness. “Sorry, sorry,” he huffs out as he tries not to laugh. 

“At least I know how to weed out plants properly.”

“You have experience though, that is an unfair advantage. I’ve lived in cities all my life.” Donghyuck used to tease him about it all the time _—“cities never sleep and neither do you, Lee Mark”—_ and Taeyong would watch on with his exasperated smile.

The Donghyuck now grins like the words are on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says “you’re just like my aunt. She used to say the same thing to my grandpa when she and my uncle would come to stay. _‘I don’t fit among all these plants,_ she used to tell him and he would just roll his eyes and let her pick fruit instead.”

Mark can imagine the old man from Donghyuck’s memories teasing his daughter for not wanting to get her hands dirty while an excited, younger Donghyuck runs around them, loud and happy. Before, the thought would have seemed miles away from Mark, who was familiar with the smooth concrete footpaths and the shopping centre only being a block away. Now the old house, small, nestled away between mountain ranges, bleeds something homey and warm.

“Wait, I can pick fruit instead?” Mark makes a move like he’s going to stand up. “Why didn’t you say so?” 

“Wait, no, uh—there’s nothing ripe for you to pick.”

“You’re bad at lying; we had fresh tomatoes this morning.”

Donghyuck flounders a little and Mark wonders if he’s thinking about Mark’s knee and the pressure that standing up for too long would have on it. It’s a kind gesture, if that’s what he’s trying to do, but it still makes Mark burn.

“Just because there’s ripe plants doesn’t mean we need to pick them right now.”

“Is that something else your grandpa used to say?” teases Mark. He totally deserves the next swat to his shoulder. 

“My grandpa would have never let you near his garden,” Donghyuck states with a grin.

“Did he have a saying about keeping bad gardeners out?”

Donghyuck snorts. “My aunt never would have been allowed in the house if that was the case. Whatever the opposite of green thumb is, she had that. My dad, thankfully, inherited some plant knowledge and passed it along to me, but my aunt was hopeless in the garden. My uncle too.”

“Preferred her city life?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, even though there’s something off about his smile that Mark can’t place.

“Where are they now, your aunt and uncle?”

Something dark falls over Donghyuck’s expression and Mark thinks that he might have asked the wrong question.

“I just mean, do they—uh, visit you here?”

“Oh, well, no.” And Mark’s heart sinks. The corners of Donghyuck’s mouth have tightened and there’s a hollowness in his eyes that makes Mark want to hold onto his hand like he did after the movie. “They actually, uh, they passed away a couple of years ago, three years I think it’s been. They got into a head-on collision on the highway, the impact...”

Mark’s heart doesn’t just sink. It squeezes tight in his chest like a rubber band pulled tight and ready to snap. “Hyuck-ah, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Donghyuck. Except it’s everything but because Donghyuck has leaned back from Mark, twisting his hands together in his lap. His eyes have shifted away to the horizon, away from Mark’s face and Donghyuck drifts back to where Mark isn’t allowed to go. As if he’s realised that he’s said too much and he pulls up and away.

“I didn’t know, you never—” _you never said a word to us. How much did you hide?_ “I’m sorry I asked that,” Mark says instead. “You must miss them.”

“I do,” Donghyuck admits. Mark watches him take a deep breath and sees the way his knuckles tighten. “Well, I better let you get back to your work. Sorry for interrupting.”

“You didn’t—” but Donghyuck has already made it up onto the porch by the time that Mark gets the words out. Mark watches him go with a heaviness settled in his heart.

* * *

_Someone is screaming. Mark can hear it, loud and bouncing around in his head, but he can’t move. His arms are sluggish and his knees are wobbling and he thinks he can see a building in front of him, tall and rising up into the clouds. But every step forward jerks him back, and no matter how hard he tries he doesn’t get any closer._

_There’s another scream that pierces through him. He can hear them all—calling, crying, desperate—as if they were standing right next to him, as if he was there to save them, to help. But he’s not. He’s stuck below, useless, hands grappling for the tower he can’t reach, for the people he can’t save—_

The next scream jolts Mark away. He feels frozen solid.

Immediately, Mark can feel the dreamlike haze that lifts from his mind; a raw, deafening silence taking its place, steady like a drum until—

A scream cracks through the air like a whip. Mark pushes himself into a seated position. That can’t be right. It was just a dream, a nightmare that his brain liked to play on repeat for him every night. Mark must be hearing something. There must be remnants of his dream clinging to his mind and playing those sounds. Who would—

Before the next scream even finishes Mark is scrambling to his feet with his heart racing frantically in his chest. He stumbles to the door, bleary-eyed and guided only by the moonlight. But it’s enough because Mark is yanking open his door and he can hear it now; the strangled scream that echoes from Donghyuck’s room. Mark is across the landing in a second.

He catches a glimpse of a painting on the wall and plants overflowing on the window sill, but Mark only registers it vaguely. Because Donghyuck is twisted in the bedsheets and his body is drawn tight as another terrifying cry escapes his lips. It’s garbled and warped, something close to a word, and then Mark hears it. Donghyuck mumbling in between the screams, something fast and frantic, and when Mark steps closer he can make out the words; _“no, stop, please just let me, I can’t, no, no, please!”_

Mark feels a horrible dread pool in his stomach. 

“Hyuck,” Mark tries. He’s cut off by a scream so he takes a step forward instead. He tips forward a step away from the bed, scrabbling to right himself on the mattress as Donghyuck grasps at the sheets he’s tangled in uselessly. “Hey, hey,” he tries again, trying to grab Donghyuck’s hands.

Donghyuck’s whimpers meet his ears like daggers slicing into his skin. “No, no, _stop_. They’ll be here soon, you can’t— you won’t get away with this. They’re coming, they’re coming _for me,_ they’re—” a scream breaks his mantra and has every muscle in his body drawn tight.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Mark says. “You’re okay, it’s just a dream.”

Donghyuck thrashes in his grip, eyes closed. Holding his wrists, Mark can feel the darkness swirling in Donghyuck’s mind, taste the desperation on the tip of his tongue. It’s the same room as before, with its terrible reek and the petrifying feeling of being confined. The memory has Mark’s insides squeezing tight. He doesn’t know where it’s from—doesn’t know which parts are memory and twisted dream.

“You’re okay, Hyuck, come on, wake up,” he whispers like a prayer. I’m right here, Donghyuck-ah, and you’re safe. I promise _you’re okay.”_

Something stills in Donghyuck’s shoulders and then his eyes snap open as his body jerks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mark finds himself saying as he watches Donghyuck’s eyes flit around the room, and sees the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “I’m here.”

Donghyuck’s gaze locks on his face and for a split second everything is on a standstill. And then Donghyuck’s lip trembles and Mark is leaning down to wrap his arms around him before he realises what he’s doing. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs gently into Donghyuck’s hair. Donghyuck’s shoulders start to shake and a small sob worms its way out of his chest but it only has Mark holding him tighter. 

Donghyuck’s hand works its way to Mark’s chest, bunching in the fabric of his shirt and holding tight. Mark doesn’t ask about the flashes he saw in Donghyuck’s memory. For one of the first times since Mark found Donghyuck again, he understands exactly what Donghyuck is trying to tell him. “I’ve got you,” Mark promises.

_I’ve got you for as long as you’ll let me,_ he doesn’t say. He reaches a hand up to gently cup the back of Donghyuck’s neck and tries to say it all with his hands. _I would stay forever if you let me,_ he whispers with the gentle brush of his fingers. _I would, oh, how quickly I would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I toned up the hurt out of the hurt/comfort for this chapter, so even though I still feel a little iffy on it, I hope you enjoyed it! Or at least the angst I sent your way!
> 
> I'm somewhat of a broken record at this point, but Chu and San are driving forces of this story and I just have to thank them! Also to Sammy, who had very kindly and diligently read through all the chapters and checked for mistakes (and bugs me everyday for the next chapter <3). To all the wonderful people in the comments and on twt, my heart thanks you sincerely! You're all too sweet to me!!
> 
> As always, stay safe and happy and healthy! I love you, guys!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/fiddle_styyx) | [tmblr](https://fiddle-styx.tumblr.com/)  
> [messy pinterest inspo](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ldh_baobei/superheroes/) | [messy playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6pd9HiNQQQGsDnwpHLf0jP?si=UrrnMcRUQHqR3WeJUYYnbg)


	4. Eclisse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My heart remembers you the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the fact that this a whopping almost six and a half thousand words (I have no idea how that one happened) makes up for the wait between the last chapter and this one!

Mark gets up early the next morning, slipping out of bed before the sun can rise to take its place in the sky. His limbs feel heavy from laying awake all night and he stumbles a little on his way down the stairs. It hadn't been easy to get to sleep; feeling shaky from adrenaline, weighed down by the weight of the words left unsaid, memories of Donghyuck's screams playing over and over again in his head like a track on repeat.

So he slips out into the cold morning air, letting the front door click shut behind him. Dew clings to the little flower petals lining the plant boxes just off the porch, the world bathed in early morning light as the sun sits just below the horizon; as if it’s giving the world a moment to breathe and settle, a quiet moment between night and day where one can simply exist in the middle of it all.

Mark breathes in the morning air like it's his first breath after coming up from the water. His world has shifted a couple more degrees on its already tilted axis. His heart feels so heavy in his chest, sunk so low that he doesn't even have the strength to try to find it anymore.

There's a line drawn in the sand.

So much lays between them, so much that the floodgates have held back, so much unsaid that Mark isn't even sure where the line lays. But Mark knows that there's a line. It's been there ever since he'd shown up at the cottage and watched Donghyuck's eyes pool with something unfamiliar and heavy and sad when Mark asked him why he wasn't dead.

If anything, last night—the screams, the shaking hands, the way Donghyuck had turned away from him when his heart had finally settled—had only worked to set that in stone for the both of them.

A part of Mark recognises Donghyuck intrinsically, something out of Mark's control what reaches out for Donghyuck, recognises something inside him that has never changed. Little teenage Donghyuck with his puffy cheeks and his loud cackle to Donghyuck with his hair grown out and a legal ID card that lets him into bars to dance his heart out. A part of Mark reaches out for the Donghyuck that he has always known, a part that Mark has to keep both hands on all the time so that it doesn't burst free and spook the boy he knows now.

He can spot the little things that are still the same; how Donghyuck likes his tea, the curve of his smile, the cadence of his voice, the careful way he tucks his feet into the corner of the cushions when it's cold out. Mark can still see snapshots of the Donghyuck he knew in the memories that had turned too painful to touch when Donghyuck wasn't there to reminisce with them.

He sucks in a breath of cold morning air and tries to let it sink into his bones. Mark watches one of the droplets of dew sink down the leaf of a lily, smiling to himself as the leaves of the maple tree rustle when a bird takes flight. He breathes in the scent of the forest, a world so far away from the city and skyscrapers that he's used to. Of course Donghyuck would have chosen a place like this to escape to, a little pocket of heaven in the middle of nowhere.

For a moment, the memories he had accidentally caught of Donghyuck's grandfather slip into his mind; a booming laugh and a soft smile and a warm hand on his shoulder. There was such warmth to Donghyuck's memories of the cottage and his grandfather, like the feeling of standing next to a gently crackling fire, stoking the coals, keeping the house cozy all through the winter.

 _How,_ Mark wonders, _does Donghyuck handle those memories?_ If he'd locked them away like Mark had done when Donghyuck disappeared, or if he'd set them gentle on a mantlepiece in his heart, ready to take down when the time comes, to cradle between his hands. He wonders how Donghyuck chose to grieve, how he chose to mend his heart again.

 _Is it possible,_ Mark asks the breathless hour of the morning, _to grieve someone that was never actually gone?_ Because Mark can feel the hole that lies in his chest, where all the sorrow that he had kept locked away in the years had pooled. All the heartbreak that Donghyuck had left in his wake still rests against his heart. _Shouldn't it have gone away?_ Now that Donghyuck is within reach again, now that Mark knows that he was never truly gone, shouldn't it have eased out of him; seeped out from under his skin and out from under his lungs so that maybe he could breathe again?

He remembers what Taeyong had told him once, curled up on Donghyuck's empty bed together after yet another fruitless day of searching.

_"It's okay to feel sad, you know that right? It's okay to miss him," Taeyong had whispered gently, twirling an arm around Mark's shoulders to squeeze him softly. "I know that we don't know what happened. And I know that he could be out there or he could be—that we don't know if he's alive or if he's—he's—"_

_Taeyong had drawn in a shaky breath to steady himself. "Grieving him doesn't mean that you're accepting that he's gone or that you're going to give up searching for him. Because grief is just—grief is just love. Love that you want to give someone but you can't. Love with no place to go."_

Mark casts his gaze back towards the little house and the curtains which hang across one of the upstairs windows. He could walk up those stairs right now, push open the door across from him and spot Donghyuck curled upon the bed. A few more steps and he could reach out and touch—if he had the courage to. It's closer than Mark has been in years. _So doesn't that mean that he's supposed to have stopped carrying around the dead weight of grief settled across his shoulders?_

Mark slips off his slippers, letting his bare feet touch the ground. He digs his toes into the earth, letting the feeling of soft grass and the earth between his toes drown out the small flares of pain down his leg. He gazes up at the sky above him, the cloudless bluey-grey of a sun yet to break through the sky. Words—ever present yet never said—hum under his skin at a frequency just for him to hear.

It's like Mark's found himself stuck in an endless game of snakes and ladders, but somewhere along the way they've lost the board, or the figures got rubbed off and Mark's forgotten which numbers mean what; which are traps and which will help him up. One wrong step and the world beneath his feet shatters. Mark's so scared to even touch the dice, to risk a step forward only to fall five back, and always somehow three moves behind Donghyuck as the boy climbs higher and higher into the sky.

Mark's just waiting with his heart in his throat for the moment his foot lands on the deadliest snake and he's jerked all the way back to the start line, tugged from the dream that he's been allowed to live in, out of the gifted final moments with Donghyuck and back to HQ. Where he suddenly wakes from the dream he might be stuck in.

It's another one of Mark's early morning thoughts, the fear that everything is just waiting to fall apart and drag him back to a world without Donghyuck and the small cottage in the woods and Fig curled up on her pillow in the sunlight. He thinks that he's been scared of that for a while. That when he finally opens his mouth, lets the words from under his skin take form within the world, that Donghyuck will vanish. That Mark would have finally stepped foot over the line.

The sun chooses that moment to break the horizon. Mark can feel it warm his cheek before he takes in the golden haze that bleeds into the sky. His heart thrums steadily in his chest and Mark can feel it when he reaches up to press his palm against it. He's _scared_. If not just for waking from the dream, then from upsetting the careful dance that they have been playing or disturbing the markings in the sand.

But Mark's sick of stumbling around in the dark searching for the markings on the board and sick of the unsaid words that he carries around like a dead weight. He's not quite sure how much more of it he can take.

So he waits until the sun has cleared the top of the trees, shining proudly in the morning light, and makes himself a promise. He uncurls his toes from the dirt next, reaching down to pick up his slippers before turning back to the cottage. _A home,_ Mark remembers thinking when he had first arrived. _A home that Donghyuck had been lucky enough to find himself._

He climbs his way up the porch stairs, only realising how cold his fingertips had become when he reaches out a hand for the doorknob. When he's inside, Mark lays his slippers next to Donghyuck's running shoes, and is reminded of the night he first arrived. His eyes fall to the painting hanging in the little hallway and the expansive lake which lies at its centre; the water so vivid a blue that it almost hurts to look at it.

Once again, Mark's gaze is drawn to the little green-clad figure who rests at the edge of the little pier as their feet dangle in the water. He can't help but wonder why the little smudge of a person is included among the overwhelming mass of beauty in the landscape and clear water.

A click of a mug against a tabletop snaps Mark out of his reverie and he tears his gaze away from the painting to cast his eyes towards the doorway at the end of the hallway. He lets his feet propel him forward until he can spot Donghyuck, curled in one of the dining chairs, staring into a mug as if it holds the secrets of the universe inside it.

An idea drifts around in Mark's mind; the questions ready to beat their way out of his chest so badly that he sucks in a breath. He lets the courage rise up in his throat, ready to push the words out of his mouth, to let the floodgates break.

But then Donghyuck sighs, pushing the mug away from himself. He notices Mark still standing in the doorway a moment later, startling ever so slightly before something close to a smile takes its place on his face. "Nice morning out?"

Mark falters. "What?"

"The sunrise," Donghyuck says, pointing a finger over his shoulder to one of the windows. "Was it a nice morning to watch the dawn break?"

All of Mark's courage has fallen away, washed out as his words are swallowed in his throat. "Yeah," he murmurs, stepping closer so he can lower himself into a seat. _Soon,_ he tells himself. The words have festered too long in his chest, he's scared that they might start to devour him.

"You know, I haven't actually been a very good host, you know?"

"Huh?"

Donghyuck's fingers reach out to fiddle with the handle of his mug. "I've got this whole forest in my backyard and you've barely seen any of it."

"Oh," Mark replies intelligently.

There's another one of Donghyuck's almost-smiles that graces his lips. "It's a beautiful day for a walk. What do you say?"

Mark remembers the sun that had warmed his cheeks only a moment ago. "Alright then."

Donghyuck's lips curl up a little higher, even closer to a smile than anything else that he's shown Mark this morning. "It's a plan. How about some breakfast before we head off?"

* * *

"If anything—you know, if your leg starts hurting or something, just let me know alright?"

Mark stills from where he's slipping on his shoes. "It'll be fine," he mumbles around the shame that begins to fill his chest. There's a bite in his voice that he hadn't meant to put in but Donghyuck doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just ignores it.

"I'm not letting you worry about being in pain, alright? If it hurts too much, I don't want you to have to bear it by yourself."

Mark's gaze is still fixed on his laces. "I said I'll be fine."

There's no way that Donghyuck doesn't notice the sliver of harshness that wheedles out of Mark's chest, the shame filling his breaths until he's almost drowning in it. But he doesn't say anything about it, humming gently instead. "I know that you're fully capable, but I just want you to tell me if anything goes wrong. I don't want you to be in pain. Our adventure isn't any fun if you're hurting along the way."

Mark has no choice but to glance up at Donghyuck, finding that the boy is already smiling down at him softly, a little sadness mixed into his gaze. Mark nods before he can help himself, fingers clenching around his shoelaces painfully. He wonders if he's the only one that feels something heavy and humid in the air; if he's the only one who's struggling to breathe.

* * *

The sunlight drifts down between the trees, having risen higher in the sky since the morning and Mark finds himself enthralled in the forest's beauty. Donghyuck had taken him around a couple of times, once to pick berries while they were reaching the peak of their season. He learnt how to tell the berries apart and which ones were alright for eating, all while Donghyuck laughed as Mark caught himself on the thorns of the blackberry bush.

But walking down the path, with the gentle sounds of the forest fluttering around them, a bird flying overhead every couple of minutes, Mark can't help but be fascinated by its beauty. It is worlds away from the busyness of Seoul and Mark finds himself not missing the loudness of morning traffic or the concrete walkways or the lights which flash at all hours.

"We picked a good day for a walk," Donghyuck says brightly, as if plucking the thought straight from Mark's head. The light catches on Donghyuck hair and the bright red of his cheeks from the walk.

"Your nose is going to burn up," Mark notes without really meaning to.

Donghyuck's fingers reach up to the bridge of his nose, inspecting, but he smiles when he says, "It'll be worth it."

Mark doesn't argue. It's nice, out in the open air, enough so that it almost feels like he's drifting back in time. There's so much of Donghyuck in the way he smiles, so much of the Donghyuck that Mark has always known in his tone, in the way that his lips curl around his words that it almost makes Mark want to fall to his knees right there in the middle of the forest. Age doesn't seem to temper the brightness that sits at the centre or the familiarity that Mark feels deep in his chest. 

They let the sounds of the forest encompass them for a moment as they walk along. A little satchel that Donghyuck brought along bounces on the back of his knee as they walk, a comforting beat to add to the sounds. It's only when the trees begin to thin around them that Mark slips out of the steady rhythm that they had fallen into, glancing around him.

"We're almost there. Just a little bit through these trees."

"You still won't tell me where we're going?" Mark asks.

"I told you that it's an adventure. Isn't that clue enough?"

Mark doesn't have time to think of a proper response because there's a break in the trees up ahead and he catches a brilliant shade of blue peaking through. His breath catches in his throat, something tugging at the back of his mind. A bright, bright blue. So blue that it almost hurts to look at. He almost stutters in his footsteps but something pulls him forward, urging him closer until he reaches the point where the trees finally stop.

It doesn't feel real. The lake brought to life in front of him is so vivid that Mark feels like he's back in the hallway, staring at the painting. "The lake," falls from his lips on a whisper. 

"Yeah."

Mark turns to Donghyuck, his eyes wide. "It exists?"

A smile flirts with Donghyuck's lips. "It does."

"It's–" There's awe spilling out of Mark's chest. "It almost seemed too beautiful to be real."

The grin takes a hold of Donghyuck's face, and he reaches out to curl a hand around his elbow. "Come on, it's better up close, I promise." 

"Where did you get the painting from?" Mark asks as they start towards the water.

"My grandmother made it." There's only a little sadness that drifts across Donghyuck's face, overshadowed by the warmth of his smile. "She and my grandfather loved this place. I didn't know her well, but he used to bring me here all the time, especially when I was little. The lake is clear enough to swim in, so in summer my cousins and I would come down here for the day to play around."

"Are we going to swim today?"

A short laugh bubbles out of Donghyuck's mouth. "We didn't bring any swimmers."

"When has that ever stopped us?"

"You're more excited about this than I thought you would be."

"I pass that painting in the hallway all the time, you don't expect me to be excited when I find out that it's actually real? You meant it when you said that you hadn't been a good host."

"Hey, I've been a great host!"

"You're the one who said it!" 

"You're not supposed to agree with me!"

Mark feels a happiness rise in his throat. In all honesty, he can’t quite tell what the excitement running through his veins is from. The sun above them shines bright and warm, reflecting off the brilliant blue of the water; Mark can’t remember a day that has been more beautiful. Maybe it is the calm before the storm, but Mark lets the joy take over his worry for a moment. 

He dips his toe into the water, as soon as they reach it and he manages to rip his shoes off his feet. It's cool to the touch and Mark finds a grin working its way onto his lips as he catches Donghyuck's gaze. 

They end up on the pier, after Donghyuck takes him around the perimeter, pointing out some of his favourite rocks to sunbake on, and all their hiding spots from when he and his cousins would chase each other around. From his bag, Donghyuck produces a couple pieces of fruit, offering one to Mark as their feet dangle over the edge of the pier.

"Was the walk worth it?" Donghyuck grins, light and teasing and as warm as the sun that shines down onto their skin.

"Yeah," Mark breathes, honesty colouring his voice. Donghyuck doesn't seem to mind. An emotion swells in the middle of Mark's chest, threatening to spill over, so instead he asks, "Tell me more stories of this place."

He doesn't realise how personal the question sounds until Donghyuck is quiet for a couple of moments. 

Mark bites his lip. "If you want to, that is."

"No, no." Donghyuck's voice almost sounds breathless as he says it. "Of course I can."

Donghyuck draws up his knee so that he can rest his elbow on it and Mark listens to the words that slip out of the boy's mouth and allows himself to be encased in his memories. Donghyuck tells the story of the time that his cousin had gotten lost on their way back home and they had found her up a tree, trying to return one of the baby birds to its nest. He talks of the time that their fishing rods kept getting stuck on leaves when they had been carrying them to the lake and the afternoon that Donghyuck's grandfather had spent at one end of the river, casting his line into the water.

"He would wave us away every time we went over to see how he was doing, telling us that we didn't know the importance of patience yet. Back then, we couldn't understand the fun of sitting here all day, waiting for a fish to come along. But that night, when we headed back home, he cooked dinner for us—the fish he had caught—and tried to help us understand."

"Did you?"

Donghyuck smiles, eyes somewhere beyond the horizon. "Did we what?"

"Understand the importance of patience."

A small laugh curls its way up Donghyuck's throat. "I'm not quite sure we did. I’m not sure that Taeyong could even reach me on that front."

Mark’s heart gives its familiar jerk when Taeyong's name slips from Donghyuck's mouth. But Mark thinks he understands. There's always been a fire in Donghyuck, not quite like the one that Mark's mum had always said was inside of Mark; something more wild and impulsive instead. When they had been younger, it had been what had drawn Donghyuck to hold grudges and jump into fights without alerting Taeyong and always being on the move.

It makes Mark smile a little ruefully as he leans back to rest his palm against the pier, and listen to another of Donghyuck's stories. There's the time that he'd slipped on a rock and not noticed until the next morning and the time when they had been caught in a storm on their way back and the times that they'd visited over the winter holidays and arrived to find the lake frozen over.

As Donghyuck recounts each of the moments, Mark catches fragments which drift through his mind, flashes of scenes or a hint of an emotion strong and filled with so much light. They're not clear—the flashes he gets from people's minds haven't been whole in a while—but Mark lets them swirl around in his head and cling to his heart anyway.

He doesn't realise how much he's lost himself in the comfort of Donghyuck's memories until the boy's voice trails off and they're left with the sounds of the water gently lapping at the bank and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Mark's mind wanders back to the painting in the hallway, the little smudge of paint near the bank, atop the pier, looking out at the depths of the blue water.

Mark's eyes find Donghyuck's. For once, the words don't jump to the tip of his tongue. The deadweight doesn't feel quite so heavy to drag around anymore. It's only the two of them, between the trees which stretch high up into the sky and with feet dangling into a water that shines a startling blue and tugs on something broken in Mark's chest. It's only them—at the centre of it all—just like it's always been.

The thought stays with him as Donghyuck tugs him onto his feet, kicking on his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head. "You said swimmers can't stop us, right?"

And Mark throws his head back to laugh, even as Donghyuck's making grabby hands at Mark's shirt and Mark's hopping on one leg to pull his sock off and then Donghyuck's gripping his hand tightly and they're backing up so they can run down the full length of the pier, running and _leaping_ and they're _up—_

For a second, they're suspended in midair and their hands are still intertwined and Mark can't help but wish that this moment could last forever.

They crash into the water together, water rushing past them, and Mark's chest explodes with warmth and drowns out the part of him that wants to scream that happiness like this can't last forever.

* * *

It begins to rain on their way back.

It's light at first, almost gentle in the way that it falls from the sky. Mark doesn't even mind that they had just spent the afternoon drying off their shorts after their swim. He doesn't quite want to let go of the bright and happy feeling that runs through his veins.

But then the rain picks up. And his clothes become more than just damp. He tries to ignore it, push away the thoughts that threaten to invade. But then his foot slips on a patch of wet grass and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from swearing. _Why can’t he just have one day where nothing goes wrong?_ His knee throbs and he almost curses again.

They walk on, the rain never once easing. The clouds begin to darken overhead as if caging them in.

Mark can't stop himself from stumbling the second time that his foot meets a slippery patch of ground, raising an arm out to steady himself and finding it met with a gentle hand on his elbow.

"Are you alright?" Donghyuck questions carefully.

Mark nods, righting himself and trying to ignore the shame that runs electric through his bones. Donghyuck holds his gaze, looking uncertain, but says nothing more. They return to their walk and Mark tries not to wince every time he puts pressure on his leg. The rain washes down from the sky and Mark misses the sunshine more than ever. He grits his teeth as his foot meets uneven ground and pain shoots up his veins like fire.

"Are you okay—"

"I'm fine!" Mark bites back before he can help himself. "I'm fi—"

But then his foot catches on the root of a tree sticking up from the ground and he's stumbling, unable to catch himself as he meets the forest floor. Shame is rippling under his skin like a storm ready to strike. He screws his eyes shut, water droplets meeting his cheeks and feeling too embarrassed to look up at Donghyuck's face. Mark just wants to curl up here on the ground, sink into it and let the forest swallow him; grow around him until he's just another part of the earth.

But it doesn't. Instead, there are soft footsteps near his head and a tentative hand on his shoulder and he opens his eyes to see an ocean of emotions swirling in Donghyuck's eyes.

"Let's go home." Donghyuck's voice is quiet, so soft that Mark almost doesn't hear it over the sounds of the rain pattering down, soft enough that it has Mark accepting the hand that Donghyuck reaches out to him and letting himself be tugged up.

When Donghyuck offers to carry him on his back, Mark shakes his head. "I'm not weak," he mutters.

"Being in pain doesn't make you weak."

Mark looks down at their hands, still clasped together from when Donghyuck had helped Mark to his feet.

"I don't want you to be in pain." And then, softer in a tone that Mark desperately tries to not let affect him, Donghyuck says, "please, hyung. Let me help you."

Something in his chest caves and as he wraps his arms around Donghyuck, he can't help but wish that they could be this close without something having to go wrong first.

* * *

As Mark gets ready for bed—warm from his shower and dressed in dry clothes again—feeling a little weightless and shaky from the sharp turn that their day had taken, he tries to remember the warmth of the sun on his cheeks. The rain lashes against his window, a painful reminder. As he sinks into the mattress, he tries to picture the pier and the sparkling blue water and hold it close to his chest; hold onto the memory that's slowly turning to sand in his grasp.

* * *

_His heartbeat rattles in his chest. Taeyong barks something through his earpiece but Mark is too preoccupied with fighting off a guard that had jumped at him. Mark manages to grab onto the guy's shoulder, his eyes flashing orange as he manages to get inside the guard's head, diving straight for the memories that burn with something painful and intensifying them until the guy falls to his knees._

_Mark doesn't have any time to celebrate the victory, surging forward as he shoves the guy to the side._

_"What's happening?" he barks his earpiece._

_"I'm just into the control room now. Their operation set up is messy so it was easy to get in."_

_"Where is he?"_

_Taeyong doesn't need to ask who Mark is referring to. He's the reason that they're here in the first place. "I don't have eyes on him, but I think I know where they're keeping him. You're close, go left at the next corner."_

_Mark follows no questions. This cannot go wrong. Even standing in Jinx's warehouse has his skin crawling. He needs to find him._

_"Okay a little bit further now. There should be a door coming up on your right," Taeyong tells him._

_Mark reaches it. "He's in here?"_

_"I think so. There's a couple of plans drawn up here. This is the room where they keep prisoners."_

_"This is so fucked up."_

_"I know. Just stay focused, okay? We'll find him."_

_Mark tries the door, finding it miraculously open. The room is dark and Mark feels like he's choking for a second before he spots something in the middle of the room and his heart almost stops. He's surging forward. His hands are reaching out, untying the restraints that are bound around the boy's wrists._

_"Haechan." Mark's voice sounds a little wrecked but at least he remembered to use their codenames._

_The boy's head slowly lifts, something like disbelief in his gaze. "You–" Donghyuck gasps out._

_"Yeah, it's me."_

_"Mar—" but then Donghyuck is pitching forward and Mark winds his arms around the boy's shoulders to keep him upright._

_"I got him," Mark says into his earpiece as he steps out into the hallway with Donghyuck in his arms._

_"Thank god," Taeyong murmurs softly. "Let's get the hell out of here."_

* * *

Mark wakes up to a crash of thunder resounding around the room, but he barely notices it. His mind is elsewhere, years back in time.

He shouldn't remember that day as well as he does, the whole thing still painfully clear in his mind. They had met up with Taeyong in one of the hallways and he had taken one look at Donghyuck slouched against Mark and let out a soft noise of pain. _"Oh, Haechan, what have they done to you?"_ Mark remembers Taeyong whispering to them.

By the time they had all made it back to HQ, Taeyong had been ready to vibrate out of his skin as his worry sent his powers haywire, even more than usual. But he had coaxed Mark to loosen his grip on Donghyuck, helping him into their infirmary room. After a week of Donghyuck being gone, Mark had been so relieved finally to have him back home and safe.

Even if Donghyuck had been a little quiet. Withdrawn had been the usual after missions. Or at least Mark had thought that it was normal. But then Donghyuck had disappeared two days later and everything had fallen apart.

Outside, rain still hammers down.

Mark moves towards his door, too jittery from his dream to be able to lie back down. The memories still taste bitter on his tongue. When he makes it to the stairs, he spots a light on downstairs, wondering if one of them had forgotten to turn it off or if the thunder was keeping the other house's inhabitant awake as well. A sense of deja-vu surges through him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, to a scene reminiscent of the early morning which now seems so very _very_ long ago.

Donghyuck sits at the table, no mug in his hands this time, but a blank sort of look on his face. The light is casting strange shadows around the room, but Mark swears that he catches a tear track on Donghyuck's cheek. When he glances up at Mark standing at the bottom of the stairs, Mark can't identify the look that swirls in his eyes.

"Hey."

"Hey," Mark mumbles back.

A clap of thunder echoes around the room and Donghyuck startles.

"Are you alright?" Mark asks.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Donghyuck murmurs in response, even though he looks very _not_ fine. "Would you like some tea?"

"Uh, sure," Mark says because he doesn't know what else to say. He finds a seat on one of the kitchen stools after he offers to help, which Donghyuck declines.

The sound of the kettle boiling fills the room, a comforting sound. When Donghyuck had first disappeared, HQ had been quiet, filled with a strange silence. He remembers how little he and Taeyong had spoken in the first month that Donghyuck had been gone, only whispering or murmuring to each other when they had to. Mark's heart feels heavy with the memories.

The click of the kettle snaps him back to the present. Mark glances up to see Donghyuck pull out the tea bags and reach up into the cupboard for their mugs. The next flash of lightning that lights up the room surprises Mark but the crash of something against tile has him jerking up from his seat.

"Hyuck?"

Donghyuck is still standing in the middle of the kitchen. Mark realises that Donghyuck's hand is shaking, ever so slightly. Then he spots the mug on the floor at Donghyuck's feet and realises what the noise had been. He moves around the bench, squatting down to pick up the two pieces of the cracked mug when Donghyuck shows no signs of moving.

"Hyuck?"

"I'm sorry," Donghyuck says when Mark places the bits of the mug on the counter.

"It's okay, it's fine. Are _you_ okay?"

"I told you, I'm _fine_."

Donghyuck still doesn't look anywhere near fine. Mark wants to ask, to know what's wrong but–

The strike of lightning has Donghyuck's whole body jerking and Mark almost reaches out his hands to steady him but holds back. Up close, Mark can see the redness which rims Donghyuck's eyes, the trails of dried tears clear on his cheeks. Mark can feel it too, the hints of memories that flicker across from Donghyuck, that same dreaded room with the chair that Mark had untied Donghyuck from all those years ago.

"Donghyuck, what is going on?"

"It's nothing–"

"It's not nothing," Mark snaps back, a hint of anger that he hadn't meant to show slipping out. "Something is wrong and you won't tell me what."

"I said that it's nothing."

Mark doesn't know what it is, if his mind is blurring the edges of his reasoning at the late hours of the night or if everything he's been keeping locked up is finally spilling over the edges. He's just so _tired._

"But it's not nothing. Just because you won't tell me anything doesn't change that!" He doesn't mean for his voice to rise, but something hurt and bruised coils tight at the shift in Donghyuck's expression. "You never tell me anything, so how am I supposed to know what's going on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie. You don't–" and Mark realises that his own hands are shaking now. "You haven't told me anything since I arrived. I don't know why you're here or why you're in this house or– or why you le–left–"

"Mark–"

"You never told me why you decided to leave–"

"But you never asked," cries Donghyuck.

"You should have told me anyway!" His heart is racing a million miles an hour in his chest and he can feel it pounding against his ribcage. "You just left and none of us knew why or when. Hell, we didn't even know if you were alive!" Mark's words flow from his lips easier than they ever have, something horrible and painful rearing up in his chest.

"Mark," and he suddenly notices the way Donghyuck's fists are clenched tightly together. "Mark, I never meant–I never meant to hurt you."

"How could you say that?" A terrible, gut-wrenching feeling rises up Mark's throat, pushing out words. "After you left and just gave it all up, like it never mattered in the first place. After you just walked away. Don't you feel guilty at all?"

Hurt blooms on Donghyuck's face but Mark can only feel the blood rushing past his own ears, and the waves of everything he's kept locked up in his chest finally crashing down. A cupboard above them slams without anybody reaching out for it. Mark remembers the fights that they used to have when they were little, that would get so heated that Donghyuck couldn't control his powers anymore.

"You don't get to say that to me, Mark. Don't you dare say that to me, not after everything that I did, after how much of my life I let that city have–"

"But you still left, didn't you?"

"Mark–"

"If you cared so much then why did you leave out of nowhere? If you cared so much then why did you just abandon everything!"

A draw rattles. "That's not fair–"

"What's not fair, Donghyuck? That I had to live with the thought of you being dead for two whole years? Searching for you without knowing if I was going to find a dead body one day or not? Is that fair?"

"Mark, please–"

"No, you _left_!"

The words are shouted, so loud that Mark thinks the windows rattled with the force of it. He's breathing hard and something fiery and painful is searing through his veins. His chest heaves. The look on Donghyuck's face—pained and hurt—has Mark wanting to hurl.

Mark's taking one step backwards and then another and _another_ and his hands are fumbling on the door handle and his heart is twisting into knots but he ignores it as he runs out the door. He hears a call of his name and then another—desperate—but Mark lets the thunder drown it out, breaking out into a run even as his left leg screams at him and his heart feels as if it wants to cave in on itself.

Somehow, he has stumbled onto a snake’s square, slipping and tumbling and grappling for a hold on _anything_ as he falls past ladders he isn’t able to reach, with Donghyuck drifting further and further away each second. Mark’s heart aches as he tumbles down, down, _down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the bandaid has certainly been ripped off. My apologies.
> 
> I can, however, promise you that I will follow through with my promise of the 'Angst with Happy Ending' tag. This fic will not end before I contributed to the markhyuck, happily in love agenda. Just hold on for a little bit more guys, I promise there's good to come!
> 
> And I must say a massive thanks to my tesoro, [ophelia](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies) who has been the absolute sweetest and for some unknown reason, decided to put up with me, did writing sprints with me and very kindly beta-ed this chapter! Ti amo, cara.
> 
> Acknowledging everything that is going on right now, please consider checking out this [carrd](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) if you're looking for information on how to help support the blm movement right now. There's something that we can all do to help!
> 
> Remember to take care of yourself, bubs, and stay safe.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/fiddle_styyx) | [tmblr](https://fiddle-styx.tumblr.com/)  
> [messy pinterest inspo](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ldh_baobei/superheroes/)  
> [messy playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6pd9HiNQQQGsDnwpHLf0jP?si=UrrnMcRUQHqR3WeJUYYnbg)


	5. Crepuscolo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mark reaches his frozen fingertips up to search for his heart. Somehow, amazingly, it beats on in his chest._
> 
> —
> 
> Let's stop running. How's that for a plan? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wild ride to write, my friends. It's here. That's all I can say.

A crash of thunder rattles through the air. If Mark were to reach out a hand, he imagines that he could feel the way it ripples through the earth, shaking the leaves on the trees with vigour, ready to bring the world down unto its knees. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but Mark has no strength left to find it. He can only cower under the ache that's settled so heavy in his bones; old and new all at once and ready to consume him entirely.

Mark reaches his frozen fingertips up to search for his heart. Somehow, amazingly, it beats on in his chest.

He reaches back a hand to settle on the trunk of a tree, drawing in ragged breaths as he tries to steady himself against it. He's shaking, he realises as more of an afterthought. It's strange, the feelings he has and the parts of his body he's aware of.

Everything is a muddle; the thoughts are rattling around inside him, the words they had said playing back in his head over and over again, a horrible, inescapable feeling that he's not just crossed the line but destroyed everything completely. But then other things, like the shake in his fingers or the awful pain that ripples across his knee—these he feels differently. His awareness of these things is absolute. Every little strain in his muscles, every scrape across his bare feet, every droplet of rain that drips down his cheeks and soaks through his shirt.

If Mark's thoughts are a cacophony—an entire orchestra trying to tune their instruments but never quite finding the right key—then the pain riddling his body is Vivaldi’s Inverno, violin solo number one. Its every note pierces through his skin with no forgiveness.

He has to go back.

Mark's hand fumbles on the tree he's resting against as another ripple of thunder echoes through the night. 

He knows there's no other option than to head back to the little cottage. Nothing will change if he doesn’t. But he’s also terrified. To walk back through those doors, with the bitter words that he’s so ashamed to have said lying between them. Hell, Donghyuck is probably in bed at this point. After everything that Mark said to him, why would he even wait up for him? Why would he even care anymore?

Mark shouldn't have pushed. He knew about the line. And yet Mark had opened his mouth anyway. There’s a small hint of something that is glad at the weight lifted off his shoulders, but he can't help but think about what it means for them now. He wonders what Taeyong would say if he showed up at HQ, bag in hand. What Taeyong would say when Mark tells him that he’s failed.

His heart throbs painfully in his chest. God, is Mark damn tired of lugging it around all by himself.

So, with shaky arms, he heaves himself off the ground. He's so sick of locking his heart up so nobody can see how bruised and torn apart it actually is. Mark reaches up a hand, finding purchase on the lower branches of the tree so that he can hoist himself up. For a second the world sways in front of him. It takes the last of Mark's willpower to keep himself upright. Somehow he does it. Mark draws in a heavy breath when he finally stills, holding it for as long as he can in. Then he takes a step forward.

Retracing his steps in the dark is awkward, not just because the pain in his left leg has quickened to a sharp staccato. He can spot the lights of the cottage flickering between the trees and feels thankful that he hadn’t run too far away in his panic. But with every step, Mark has to reason with himself and force himself to take another. There are waves of guilt and shame mixed within the muddle that is his thoughts, alongside the reminder of the angry words that had stung his mouth. A glimpse of Donghyuck's face and the devastated expression that bloomed there almost has Mark turning back around.

Instead, Mark sets one foot in front of the other.

Slowly the whole cottage comes into view, light from the windows illuminating the forest around him. The kitchen light is still on, and Mark wonders if Donghyuck had left it on for him. Then Mark feels guilty all over again.

Mark is reminded of the first night that he arrived—the moment is eons away from him now, somewhere close to months in the past. It sits vivid in his mind. He's just as unsure of what to expect now as he had been then. He’s still got no taxi to take him away, just that familiar old longing within his chest. Mark supposes it was what got them here in the first place. This longing of his.

Mark steps forward. He reaches the back door of the house, stumbling along the way and jumping a little when another strike of lightning streaks through the sky. The doorknob is cold under his fingers. He counts backwards from a hundred in nines—which is harder than it should be—but at least when he's done his heart rate has slowed a little.

Biting down the anxiety that simmers under his skin, Mark pushes the door open.

A blast of warmth from inside hits him first, the warm light from inside coming second. He steps inside before he can think twice about it, letting the door swing shut behind him. Then he glances up and Donghyuck is there and Mark has never been more happy to be wrong about something because Donghyuck is _here,_ clambering onto his feet from his spot on the couch. 

The relief only lasts a second because he takes in the look on Donghyuck's face next and Mark feels as if the bottom has dropped out of his stomach.

Any fight that was left in Mark's veins drains out of him and he's left in the wake of the tsunami that he had unleashed. Because Donghyuck looks as tired as Mark feels.

Neither of them move as a flash of lightning illuminates the room.

For all the words that had been living inside of Mark for so long, he can't seem to find any when they mean the most.

"You came back." 

It's barely more than a whisper but Mark hears it all the same. He sucks in a breath that takes more effort than it should. "Yeah."

Donghyuck takes a step forward, then another and another until he's within arms reach. He reaches up a hand, hesitancy clear in his face. Mark leans forward a little because he can't stop himself, and then Donghyuck's hand is pressed to his cheek; soft skin against his own, exactly how they used to when they were younger. Donghyuck lets Mark in. Reaches out and _allows_ him to hear his thoughts again. It almost brings Mark to his knees.

"You're freezing," comes Donghyuck's whisper.

Mark winces. "I'm sorry." There's more to say, so _so_ much more, but he says that first because he needs to. He needs Donghyuck to know how much regret he holds.

A swirl of pain rises at the centre of Donghyuck's orchestra. "No. No, hyung, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have– There's more that I should have done. We're going to talk about it, okay? I promise, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Mark sucks in a breath and lets it sit in his chest for a moment. “Really?”

“Yeah.” A pause as Donghyuck bites his lip. “Yeah, everything, hyung.”

"Okay," Mark whispers. "Okay."

They hold each other's gazes for a moment. The world around them dips to a low hum in the background.

Donghyuck shakes his head and then scrunches up his nose and Mark doesn't even realise that there are tears in Donghyuck's eyes until he says, shakily, "Yah, you're so cold, Mark Lee." He's a little breathless and the teasing note in his voice is dimmed by his trembling lip and then Mark is losing sight of him as his own eyes start to water.

"Come on, hyung, you're getting water all over the floor." There's still a tremble in Donghyuck's voice—candlelight rippling in the wind—but Mark can make out the way Donghyuck's lips try for another almost smile. He lets a little more relief build in his chest against the dread that's been piled up there.

Donghyuck's fingers find his and Mark lets himself imagine—just for a moment—that everything will be okay.

  


  


Mark catches his own gaze in the mirror. He traces his eyes over his reflection—damp hair across his forehead and the orange shirt that Donghyuck had brought him that looks vaguely like something from one of their shopping trips back in high school. Mark’s eyes stand out the most, red-rimmed and tired-looking even to him. He tears his gaze away before he can think about that last one too much. He has to draw in a quick breath before he has the courage to open up the bathroom door.

Mark doesn't stop until he reaches the doorway of the living room. Bravery is strange like that; ebbing and flowing. He wonders, with a little twinge of humour that feels a tad too foreign, if the doorway has become his spot now. Standing here, quiet as he watches Donghyuck. The boy is on the couch again, with his feet tucked into the crease of the couch again and his fingers twisting together.

_It’s time,_ he tells himself. To offer up his heart. It might just be the scariest thing that he’s ever done. Because Donghyuck held Mark's heart once before and had still walked away.

_That's the leap of faith you have to take when you love someone,_ a voice that sounds suspiciously like Taeyong echoes in Mark's head.

For once, instead of waiting for Donghyuck to see him, Mark steps into the room himself. He spots Fig on the couch and smiles at her wearily when she raises her head to greet him with a little meow. Mark reaches out to pet her gently on the head when he gets close enough. And then his eyes meet Donghyuck's.

_Courage,_ Mark reminds himself. He's a superhero—or rather he _was_ one. Isn't courage part of the job description?

He settles upon the couch next to Donghyuck and tries to find some of the bravery that used to help him jump into fights and break into buildings. Somehow he finds his voice. "How are you here, Hyuck? How are you here when you're supposed to be dead?"

When Donghyuck's eyes flick up to his, Mark can see recognition dawning in them. It's the first question that Mark had asked him, standing on his doorstep so many nights ago. It’s also the one that he’d never got an answer to.

For a second, Mark's question lies between them, a boat pushed off the shore with no one to man it.

"It's not a pretty story," Donghyuck murmurs after a moment. The question still floats alone in the ocean.

"Will you tell it to me anyway?"

It's only a beat of silence before Donghyuck nods, reaching out for the boat and clasping it between his hands. "Believe it or not, you're the one I've been dying to tell it to ever since it happened." Donghyuck smiles as he says it, a rueful sort of thing, and then begins.

_He wakes all of a sudden, staring up at the ceiling blankly as his heart beats double time in his chest. For a second, he thinks it was all a dream, some crazy hallucination that he'd thought up while delirious and in pain. But then he reaches down to check his wrists, finding that he can move them freely. The sheets beneath him feel like a bed, nothing like the chair he had been strapped too. Familiar sheets, too. Belatedly, Donghyuck realises he's back at HQ._

_He’s panting, struggling to draw in breaths. HQ, Donghyuck tells himself, letting the word repeat in his head over and over again, trying to grasp the meaning of it._

Donghyuck has a strange look on his face as he tells the story, his lips tugging at the edges every so often as if they can't decide whether to smile or frown. "I was scared that you guys hadn't actually found me. That I would be stuck there with Jinx forever." Mark's heart aches at Donghyuck's words. 

"But when I looked around—after I managed to lift my head up from the mattress which took more effort than I thought it would—I saw you." Donghyuck’s lips twitch upwards, getting closer to a smile. "You were in the chair next to me. I still remember the moment that I saw your face, all smushed against the arm of the chair. You looked as silly as always but wow, was I glad to see you."

Donghyuck trails off for a moment but Mark doesn't interrupt. 

"That's when I knew that I was safe," Donghyuck whispers, finding Mark's gaze. "That you'd brought me back home."

"Hyuck," Mark murmurs, wishing he knew what to say. Mark can remember that day too. He’d slumped down in a chair after Taeyong had made sure that none of Donghyuck's injuries were life-threatening. For what seemed like hours, he had sat there, watching the steady rise and fall of Donghyuck's chest until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

"That was the scariest week of my life," Mark manages to say. "We were desperate to find you, Taeyong and I, and god, we couldn't help but imagine what Jinx was doing to you.” Mark has to take a moment before he can continue. “After seeing you get dragged off by her in the middle of a fight, we were so worried. I was so glad to be able to bring you back home."

Donghyuck is silent and for a moment Mark thinks that he’s gotten caught up in his memories of that night as well. But then, in a voice so coloured with regret that it tugs brutally at something in Mark’s chest, Donghyuck says, "And then I left."

Mark's heart squeezes painfully in his throat.

"You found me just to have me disappear again." Donghyuck's lips are no longer twitching up into a smile.

"You left me," Mark whispers in response. The words come out like Mark feels; shattered and broken.

Donghyuck doesn't deny it. Instead, he tips his head forward into his hands. "I know. I know I did and, Mark, I'm so sorry it had to be that way. I’m so sorry that I had to leave as I did."

"Why did you do it?" Mark asks because he needs to know. It's the only question that's been on his mind for the last two years.

"I was hurting. I suppose I still am." Mark watches as Donghyuck's fingers tighten in his hair as he speaks. "When Jinx had me captive, I was useless. I mean physically, there was nothing that I could do to escape. She was numbing my powers, you know, with that technology she had stolen the summer before. So I couldn't move anything that weighed more than a feather. And every day she would come in, trying to get information about you and Taeyong out of me. Sometimes I think just to bask in the glory of finally having caught one of us."

Mark can see it now; the glimpses he's gotten from Donghyuck's mind merging with his words. It’s like a picture slowly coming into focus.

"There was nothing that I could do other than sit there day after day and listen to her. That was the scariest part." Donghyuck's hands have begun to shake. "I was a superhero. I had given my life to protect Seoul. People looked to me to save them. They looked to me to help them. And yet there I was, completely useless. I couldn't do anything to save myself. It was my aunt and uncle, my grandpa, all over again. I hadn’t been able to save them and– and I wasn’t able to do anything this time either.”

Mark tries to shake his head. "Hyuck, it's not your fault. What happened with your family–"

"But it is!" Mark spots the tears trailing down Donghyuck's cheeks. "I was saving the world against villains and robots and making sure that my city didn't get blown up, and they still died."

"You can't blame yourself for that, that's not your fault!"

"How is it not?” Donghyuck demands with pain threaded through his voice. “They died because of a random drunk driver speeding down a freeway and where was I to protect them?"

"Hey, listen to me,” Mark leans forward, trying to meet Donghyuck’s gaze. “None of that is your fault, okay? Not what Jinx did to you, not what happened to your aunt and uncle. You can't be held responsible for everyone in the world."

Donghyuck sucks in a heavy breath, leaning back a little so that he can wipe away the tears from under his eyes. "I wish there was something that I could have done for them."

Mark reaches out before he can stop himself, laying a gentle hand on Donghyuck's leg. Donghyuck raises his head at the touch. Then he detangles one of his hands from his hair, slotting his fingers between Mark's and squeezing hard.

Donghyuck breathes in a slow breath and on the exhale he continues. "That's part of the reason why I left. I wasn't sure why I was fighting anymore. If I couldn't save the people who were so important to me, then why was I fighting at all. I know it's selfish, leaving all those people behind. Leaving a _city_ behind. But I was twenty-three and I hadn't stopped to breathe since I was thirteen.” It startles Mark, hearing Donghyuck remind him of how long they’d both been doing this. “Ten years, I'd given them my life, Mark. Wasn't that enough?"

Mark let the words sink in. Finally, he has the answers that he’s been looking for all along. He drops his head into his hand and breathes deeply for what feels like the first time in years.

"Do you still hate me for it?" Donghyuck’s voice is timid. Scared.

Mark's head snaps up as fast as a whip. "What?"

"For leaving."

"Do I hate you for leav– no, Hyuck, no. I couldn’t– I could never hate you, Hyuck.” As he speaks, Mark squeezes Donghyuck’s hand. “I'm so sorry for what I said last night, I never should have said any of it. It was mean and untrue. It was me being angry at myself. Angry that I had failed myself, that I had left the city, angry even at how angry I was about that. And, god, if I knew about what you went through, about why you left? I never would have said any of it. I didn't know that you felt so trapped, that you were struggling with so much."

Mark squeezes Donghyuck’s hand, desperately trying to make him understand as he continues. "You have to know, Donghyuck-ah, I never hated you. Even for a second. After I found you again—in this cottage where you'd built a new life for yourself—I was confused. I didn’t know what had happened, where you had gone, and suddenly I found you here. Happy with your cat and little farm and friends in town.” His next words hurt the most. They’re something raw; a worry that Mark had held since he first arrived. “I wondered, maybe, if it had been me all along. If I– if I hadn't been enough to make you stay–"

"Mark, no–"

"Was it because of me? Was I pushing you too hard or not there for you enough or not–"

"Hyung, it was never you." And then there are a pair of arms winding their way around Mark’s shoulders. "Hyung, you're enough. You were always enough."

"I couldn't make you stay though."

"It wasn't like that,” Donghyuck whispers into his hair. “Mark-hyung, I promise it wasn't like that at all."

Mark squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop himself from crying. "For a long time," he murmurs, trying to hold his voice steady, "I thought you were dead. When you left, something in me broke and I just couldn't–"

"Hyung, I didn’t leave because of you," Donghyuck says, pulling away so that he can lock eyes with Mark.

"You could have told me. When you wanted to leave and to escape, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have stopped you." It’s true. Mark would never have stopped Donghyuck from doing something that would make him happy.

"I wanted to. I always wanted to tell you, Mark-hyung. But I was ashamed." Donghyuck averts his eyes to the side, sucking in a breath. When his gaze returns to Mark's there's a new determination in his eyes. "I was so ashamed of leaving, not just of leaving the city but of you. I was ashamed of leaving you. The rest I could deal with, maybe. No more fighting or missions at two in the morning or bruises that would never truly heal because there were always new ones to take their spot."

“But you,” Donghyuck continues, squeezing Mark’s hand gently. “Mark-hyung, you meant so much to me. You still do. You were the reason that I was able to hold on for so long. If there was anything that I would do differently, it would be to tell you everything. From the start, like you deserved.”

Donghyuck presses a hand to Mark's cheek and he's met with a symphony as the words come alive between them.

"I'm sorry too," Mark whispers, still a little startled by the harmony that Donghyuck's thoughts create. "I should have asked, instead of just assuming. I should have done more, I should have been there for you when you needed me.”

"That's stupid. I didn't let you be there for me in the first place."

"But I could have asked. I was so worried when I got here. Scared about ruining things or spooking you by asking questions. I thought that if I overstepped somehow, you might disappear again. I should have tried more, instead of letting it all brew inside of me. I'm sorry."

Donghyuck stares at him for a moment, his eyes a kaleidoscope of pain and regret. But then he shakes his head, trying for a smile. "No more apologies. I wasn't there for you when you needed me at the Han Tower, and I wasn't there for you afterwards either. So you're not allowed to apologise anymore. It wasn't your fault."

"Well, it wasn't yours either."

Donghyuck pouts a little but doesn't dispute it.

"I guess I can live with that," Mark says aloud, finding his own small smile when Donghyuck rolls his eyes at him.

"Can I hug you?" Donghyuck asks, and it’s been so long that it feels like the first time in his life. Donghyuck asking, instead of just unloading his affection; what has the world come to? Mark is reaching out before he can think twice about it, winding his arms around Donghyuck until he's flush against Mark's chest. Then he presses his cheek against the top of Donghyuck's head and breathes in a deep lungful of air.

"I'm guessing that's a yes?" Donghyuck asks.

Mark can picture the little grin on Donghyuck's face, even if he can't see it. "I can stop if you like," he teases, laughing when Donghyuck tightens a hand around Mark's shoulder.

"Don't you dare."

Mark lets out a little laugh and leans back against the couch. The room is bathed in a golden light from the lamp and when he glances out the window, Mark sees rain still pattering down against the ground. It was only moments ago, he realises with a little shock, that he was out there in the downpour. Alone with nothing but a battered heart. And now. Well, now he doesn't know what to feel. He finally showed his heart to someone else. Unsurprisingly, it's still a little broken.

"How did we end up here?" Mark whispers, letting his words hang between them.

Once again, Donghyuck surprises Mark by reaching out to catch them. "We forgot how to talk to each other."

Mark knows it's true. 

"We'll learn again," he says like his words can speak it into existence. Hope clings to his words like vines curled up a tree, and Mark lets it. Because Donghyuck squeezes a hand around his middle and presses closer to him and for the first time in years, Mark loosens his hold around his own heart.

  


  


Mark doesn't wake up alone. It's another thing that he hasn't had in a long time.

Somehow, at some point during last night, they had gravitated up to Donghyuck's room. Mark can barely remember it, having only a few recollections of him stumbling up the stairs. It’s then that it all catches up to Mark; the night itself. There’s a relief that slowly opens its leaves inside his heart, but there’s also the ache within him that has been slowly festering inside his bones. This time, though, there’s a new hope battling against it.

Mark tips his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of the room. It smells like crushed blossoms and ink on paper and something else that Mark recognises like the back of his palm. Something distinct and warm that smells like home.

When Mark opens his eyes again, he takes in the room around him. It looks different in the morning light, and when he isn't panicking and worrying and desperate to make sure that Donghyuck is okay. 

There's a little dresser pushed up against one wall, books and plants scattered across its surface. It's the little things in the room that remind Mark of Donghyuck, of his room back at HQ—the hoodie that hangs over the back of one chair and the records lying next to a little turntable. _Oh how much time had passed since they had all moved into HQ together,_ Mark thinks wistfully to himself.

Taeyong was determined—had been since the day they all met—to protect the both of them. He was older than Mark and Donghyuck and had started in the city before them. Thus it had always been Taeyong’s job, somehow. When he was finally able to save up enough Taeyong moved all three of them out of his tiny little studio apartment, each of them getting their own room. _A home,_ Taeyong had called it.

Mark smiles as he remembers, even if it is a little bittersweet. They had made their home then, and now—Mark hopes—he can make one again. Or rather, find his home again.

Mark’s eyes drift to the side.

Sunlight graces Donghyuck's cheeks, with the gentle touch of an old friend. His hair fans out to the side, fluffy and soft and catching its own soft light. Something grows in Mark's chest, warm and gentle, burning with a mix of old emotions and new. Like Mark had felt sitting out on the pier, listening to Donghyuck paint him a whole array of memories with his words. But there's something new to it now. Something he didn't have before.

Because Mark has hit rock bottom and found himself back at square one. But this time, he can see the board. He can choose which numbers he rolls. Now, Mark muses to himself with a small smile, Donghyuck isn't miles in the sky anymore. He's here, right beside Mark. He's here in front of Mark with his face pressed into a pillow and his little nose scrunched up. Donghyuck has moles dotted across his cheeks, ones that Mark used to trace over gently with the pad of his thumb. He knows the route probably even to this day, like a little path to heaven. Mark thinks that if he were allowed to, he'd trace over that track every chance he got.

"You're staring."

_What a tease,_ Mark thinks. Donghyuck hasn't even opened his eyes. "Am not," he huffs back, even though they both know it's a downright lie.

Donghyuck peeks open one eye, as a teasing smile toys with his lips. "Are you sure about that?"

"You can't prove anything."

When Donghyuck laughs in response—a light and familiar sound—Mark finds himself smiling again. There's no use even trying to feign annoyance when he's met with that lovely sound.

"I wasn't staring," Mark tries again, "I was just, you know," he feels shy all of a sudden. "I was just making sure that last night wasn't just a dream."

"Don't people usually try to pinch themselves if they want to see if it’s a dream?” Donghyuck wiggles his eyebrows. “Do you want me to pinch you, Mark Lee?"

"No, no," Mark laughs as he bats away Donghyuck's roaming fingers. "No pinching required, thank you." Donghyuck's hands retreat, but the smile on his mouth stays. Mark adores it more than he probably should.

"How ever will you know then?"

"It certainly won't be through pinching," Mark replies.

“Oh, what a shame.”

They lapse into quiet, letting the sunlight shining through the windows take centre stage. Mark is once again struck by how strange it is that after everything, they somehow ended up here. Together.

But still, one question plagues his mind:

"What do we do now?"

Donghyuck tilts his head to the side, catching Mark's gaze. The golden sun rays dance across his skin. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, between us. You and me. What are we going to do?"

"Well,” Donghyuck starts, raising a finger to his lips dramatically. “I was thinking that we start with breakfast. As they say, it _is_ the most important meal of the day?"

"No," Mark huffs, pressing his face into his pillow. "I mean, what are _we_ going to do."

"I'm telling you the answer right now, Mark Lee." When Mark peeks out from behind his pillow, Donghyuck is smiling, a gentle contrast to his teasing tone. "Here's the plan, okay? We're going to start with breakfast because it is the most important meal of the day and you're far too skinny for a boy of just fifteen years."

"I'm twenty-six," he says, failing at keeping a straight face.

"Semantics," Donghyuck waves him off. "I thought you wanted to hear what we were going to do today."

Mark grins despite himself. "I'm sorry, please continue."

"Thank you, now where was I?" Donghyuck scratches his nose a little, a little sign of nervousness that only Mark would recognise. "Oh yes, breakfast. After our wonderful breakfast, I think we should just lie around all day. Everyone is allowed a day to do nothing, every once in a while. We can even lie around outside if the weather is nice enough. Fig will join us because she loves sunbathing just as much as me."

Mark's smile grows with every word that leaves Donghyuck's mouth.

"And tomorrow we can head down to the pier and dangle our feet in the water. It's your turn to tell me stories though, so you better be prepared." Donghyuck waves a hand in his direction, not quite able to look him in the eye. "We can pick berries too, maybe the day after that? Fig will stare at us grumpily until we offer her some to try and you'll prick your hands on the thorns because you forgot to bring gloves again."

The next words that slip from Donghyuck’s lips are as light as leaves dancing in the wind. "I'll feed half of the ones I do pick to Fig on our way back home, and then tell you that I didn't pick enough and that you have to share yours with me." Something new slips into Donghyuck's tone as he says his next words. "And this time, if something doesn't feel right, we'll talk. I'll tell you every little thing that crosses my mind until you're sick of hearing my amazing voice."

Mark lets out a laugh. "So that's our plan?"

"That's our plan."

He hesitates for a moment, letting his eyes wander over Donghyuck's face. "What if something goes wrong?"

"Then we make a new plan." Donghyuck says it like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"Just like that?" Mark asks just for the sake of it, even though inside of him, the fear that Mark has learned to live with begins to pack its belongings.

"Just like that," Donghyuck echoes, meeting Mark’s gaze. "We can make new plans and then more new plans. And super, _super_ far down the track when we're old and frail and as grey-haired as Taeyong-hyung, we'll figure out a new plan for then too."

"At that age, we won't be able to make jokes about hyung being old anymore. Not when _we're_ that old."

Donghyuck shakes his head, feigning seriousness. "I object. There will never come a time when I stop calling Taeyong-hyung old. It is impossible."

Mark breaks out into a grin, then a laugh catches itself between his lips and then they're both laughing and smiling too wide and maybe even crying a little again. It all feels too surreal.

"Have you decided?" Donghyuck asks later when their breathing has returned to normal.

The ceiling is a beautiful shade of cream, Mark notes to himself. "Decided what?"

"Whether it's a dream or not?"

Mark tilts his head to the side so he can face Donghyuck. He holds his gaze for one heartbeat, then two, before shaking his head gently. "No, I'm not quite sure that I would be able to dream up a feeling like this."

Donghyuck is quiet for a moment before he asks softly. "What type of feeling is it?"

Mark reaches out for Donghyuck's hand, hovering just over his fingers until Donghyuck accepts his invitation—threading their fingers together. _"Happiness."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap.
> 
> Okay, okay, so not a wrap on the entire story. There's still a couple of important things that need happen. But look! I finally made them happy!
> 
> I need to thank the absolutely wonderful [ophelia](https://twitter.com/ophelialilies), who handled my worries for this chapter with such grace. Your edits and support along the way meant so much! To sami and chu as well, thank you for being here since the beginning!
> 
> Check out this [carrd](https://issuesintheworld.carrd.co/) which has very kindly compiled a list of issues going on in the world right now, to find out ways you can help.
> 
> To all the lovely souls who have given your support to me while I write this story, thank you so much! Remember to take care of yourselves!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/fiddlestyyx) | [tmblr](https://fiddle-styx.tumblr.com/)  
> [messy pinterest inspo](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ldh_baobei/superheroes/)  
> [messy playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6pd9HiNQQQGsDnwpHLf0jP?si=UrrnMcRUQHqR3WeJUYYnbg)


	6. Alba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m still scared of losing you,” he confesses.
> 
> Donghyuck’s emotions twist into a flurry. But then, in the same moment, he settles. “Well then I’ll just have to stay until you realise that I’m not going anywhere.” The world glows that little bit brighter. “And then, after you realise that, I’ll still stay. I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was a five tissue experience—funnily enough, it’s always the fluff that gets me far too emotional.
> 
> Also is this our second last full chapter? Could it be? I mean… guess you’ll have to find out! Thank you all for being along for the ride!!

_“I dreamt I slept on a sidewalk, but you still laid with me,  
_ _I dreamt I fell in a lion's den, and you still came for me”_

(Jon Bellion.)

"Can we get berries?"

Mark doesn't even bother with trying to hold back his laugh. "You want more berries? We have so many left over from the other day, we can't possibly need _more_."

From across the fruit stand, Donghyuck pouts. "No we don't, Fig ate them all."

He raises his eyebrows at that. "Are you sure it was Fig?" Mark’s trying to tease but he can tell that the fondness slips past, colouring his smile. Donghyuck reaches out to punch his arm anyway but, like always, it's far too gentle to cause any type of real damage.

"Fig just loves the berries, okay?" 

Donghyuck picks up a little cartoon from the stall, reaching across to place it in their basket. When he catches Mark's gaze, he breaks out in a grin of his own. 

"Fine, I love them too. Happy?"

_So happy. Happier than I've been in a long time._ But Mark doesn't think he is ready for a confession like that so he just smiles back.

They find a bread stand next—after Donghyuck has managed to sneak a couple more fruits into their already brimming basket—and end up bumping into Ms Yang along the way. It's a fine day out and Mrs Yang buys them both honey pastries from a little bakery cart for them to eat as they walk. He and Donghyuck listen attentively as she tells them about her daughter's latest adventures in the big city and the different teas she has been trailing at her store. 

There’s a cat that keeps showing up at her door, happy to “eat all my food and then curl up in my lap,” Ms Yang tells them with a shake of her head. “I wish the poor little thing would just tell me if he has an owner or not, then I wouldn’t be so worried about getting attached to it.”

When she finally has to leave, she gives them a soft pat on each cheek and reminds them to take care of each other. _Just like Taeyong always used to do,_ Mark thinks to himself.

"I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, Ms Yang, don't you worry," Donghyuck tells her.

She laughs and swats his shoulder. "It's not Mark that I worry for."

That makes Donghyuck pout and Mark has to look away before he does something silly like pinch Donghyuck cheeks or call him cute. Instead, he turns back to Ms Yang. "I'll keep him out of trouble for you, ma’am," he promises.

As soon as the words leave his mouth she smiles softly, which lights something warm inside his chest. "You're a good kid, Mark."

She gives them one last wave, ruffling Donghyuck's hair on the way past. Mark takes a moment to watch her go, letting the softness seep into his bones and settle there against the grain of everything else that's been sitting there for far too long. He and Donghyuck and their long awaited talk—their soft early morning promises that had followed—may have flushed out the ache he'd been carrying around but now there's an empty hollowness that's been left behind.

Like poison finally drained out of a wound.

But now he’s left with a hole in his chest that sits where the poison used to be. And it's clear to him now how long he’s been carrying around his ache for because the hole is bigger than he thought, as the edges have been worn down over the years to make room for the ache. Now it’s just sitting there, waiting for something else to live there.

_Happiness,_ Mark thinks to himself, _I want happiness there now,_ almost like a prayer. Like if he says it enough times it might come true.

He glances across at Donghyuck, watching the boy swing their basket back and forth, and thinks that maybe it might not be that hard.

"Just for the record," Donghyuck chooses that moment to say, "I don't go searching for trouble. It's just trouble that always seems to find me."

_Not hard at all._

With containers of Mr Kang’s kimchi in hand, Mark and Donghyuck find themselves wandering through the streets with the warm afternoon sun on their backs. Mark can’t help but notice how much different it is this time compared to the first fateful time he’d visited town.

Least of all because Donghyuck keeps deciding that it’s terribly amusing to male the leaves swirl around their feet.

Mark tries to roll his eyes and not let his fondness show but he thinks the other can tell anyway. He hasn’t seen Donghyuck use his powers freely in a long time and he almost finds himself lost in the sight.

It isn’t until a log twirls over unnaturally, that Mark decides to say something. “You’re going to get caught if you keep doing that.”

“I am a master at deception,” Donghyuck replies, waggling his eyebrows very unconvincingly.

“Are you know?” Mark grins. “Because I distinctly remember the time you called me frantically at one in the morning because you had accidentally used your powers to pour out the detergent and the laundromat lady caught you.”

“That’s not fair, I was sleep deprived!”

Mark laughs to himself while picturing the memory: Donghyuck trying to stop the very distressed and very confused lady from shouting the whole place down while looking small and sleepy and panicky in one of Mark’s oversized hoodies.

“It’s not even the worst part of it all, because we had a washing machine at the house which you could have used. But for some reason you had decided to take them to a laundromat at one in the morning.” Mark shakes his head. “Taeyong wasn’t even mad when he found you, just confused.”

Donghyuck looks a little surprised at that. “Taeyong wasn’t mad?” 

“No, he wasn’t mad. Not that he was calm or anything. He was ready to dash over there the moment you called. He was going to pull out his suit and everything so we wouldn’t be caught using his speed. I’m not surprised at all though, because I remember how worried you were about everything and you know how he gets when he thinks we’re in danger.”

A soft, almost sad smile works its way onto Donghyuck’s lips. Mark’s heart echoes the sentiment as it squeezes in his chest. “Yeah, I remember,” he murmurs and it’s only then that Mark wonders if Donghyuck misses Taeyong as much as he does. He must do. After all, it had just been Donghyuck and Taeyong in the beginning, before Mark had shown up and completed their family.

Pulling himself out of that particular spiral of thoughts, Mark watches as Donghyuck brushes a couple of leaves into a pile with a flick of his wrist.

“You know,” Donghyuck starts, keeping his gaze fixed on the leaves. “I haven’t used my abilities in so long.”

Mark lifts his gaze to Donghyuck’s face. His smile is definitely sad now.

“After I was…” The leaves on the top of the pile flutter. “After I left, I didn’t want to use them anymore. There was a guilt that I was carrying around. I was so ashamed that I had just up and abandoned you all and it felt like I didn’t–like I didn’t deserve them. If I wasn’t using them to save people then I shouldn’t be allowed to have them.”

Mark's eyes go misty. “Oh, Hyuck-ah.” He reaches out a tentative hand to rest on the boy’s shoulder. “You have to know that that’s not true.”

Donghyuck sniffs and Mark doesn’t miss the tears he blinks out of his eyes. 

“It’s better now,” Donghyuck tells his shoulder, not able to meet his eyes just yet. “I’m learning that they’re just another part of me and that–that I wasn’t given them just to fight with. And that I don’t have to keep fighting.” He pauses for a moment then offers a smile. “That I’m allowed to use them freely too.” 

His hand moves through the air and it’s only then that Mark notices that the leaves have dissipated back to nature. But it doesn’t matter because a flower is suddenly resting in Donghyuck’s hand. 

“Even for the simple things in life too.”

Mark gazes down at the daisy; dainty and small and fitting perfectly into Donghyuck’s palm.

He looks up and this time Donghyuck is looking right back at him. “From me?” he asks.

Donghyuck smiles again. “Yeah, hyung. For you.”

As he takes the flower from him, Mark shifts his hand from Donghyuck’s shoulder to cup the side of his neck gently. It startles him at far because suddenly he can feel Donghyuck’s emotions vibrantly—happiness, warmth, _sunlight_ —and the realisation almost has him pulling away. But then Donghyuck moves a hand to rest over his and holds Mark in place. And who is Mark to ever refuse him anything?

“Thank you, Hyuck-ah.”

Donghyuck diverts his eyes, embarrassed. But he doesn’t move away from Mark, so he counts it as a win.

They walk for another ten minutes before Mark’s leg starts to bother him more than normal. At the tinge of pain, he grits his teeth, trying not to wince.

He must fail horribly because Donghyuck notices immediately. “Everything okay, hyung?”

“Yeah, I’m fi–” and then he stops himself. 

Donghyuck sends him a reprimanding look. “I thought we talked about this.”

Mark lifts a hand to punch his shoulder—too gentle to really hurt—but doesn’t deny it. It makes Donghyuck smile and okay,Mark could get used to Donghyuck smiling at him like that.

“Tell you what,” Donghyuck says, grabbing on to his upper arm. “How about you sit your cute little butt down on this bench right here while I go and fetch the car.” Donghyuck is already tugging Mark over to the park bench before he can even protest properly.

“Hyuck, wait no, I can make it to the car–”

“Nonsense, someone has to stay and guard our kimchi.”

“We can carry it–”

“Nonsense!” Donghyuck says again and Mark already knows that he’s lost. “Someone might try and steal it while we’re distracted, it’s a better idea to have someone guard it while on full alert.” 

He’s somehow manoeuvred Mark into sitting down on the bench with their kimchi containers stacked next to him.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Donghyuck reassures him. ”Don’t miss me too much, Mark!”

“As if!” he cries back, reaching out to swat the boy.

But Donghyuck has danced out of reach and is now waving goodbye.

It isn’t until he’s a couple more paces away that Mark realises something.

“Wait, you think my butt is cute?”

Donghyuck blushes—even though Mark can’t see his face, he spots the red rushes to his ears and neck. 

“I said nothing of the sort!” Donghyuck tosses over his shoulder.

Mark grins so hard that his face hurts.

This time on the way back home, Donghyuck makes sure to drive a little slower. Mark wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had been able to pick up on the way the bumps jolt his leg.

The sun is setting, light streaming through the trees and drawing patterns across the car; flickering over and over again. Mark lets the feeling take over him—the golden world that surrounds them.

“I’m still scared of losing you,” he confesses.

Even though he doesn’t mean to search for them, he can sense the way Donghyuck’s emotions twist into a flurry. But then, in the same moment, he settles. “Well then, I’ll just have to stay until you realise that I’m not going anywhere.” The world glows that little bit brighter. “And then, after you realise that, I’ll still stay. I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

Mark reaches out to hold Donghyuck’s hand over the gearshift. “And if I want you around forever?”

The smile that curls across Donghyuck’s mouth is brighter than any sun rays Mark has ever seen. The boy squeezes Mark’s hand tight; holding on. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stay forever.”

_Then I do. I want you forever._ But he doesn’t have the courage to voice the words just yet, so Mark squeezes back and watches the sunlight dance across Donghyuck’s cheeks—over and over.

* * *

When Mark wakes up to a scream, for a split second he thinks that it’s his own.

But in the next moment, the cogs in his sleepy brain click into place and he’s out of bed. It’s been a couple of nights since their outing in town and if Mark is being honest with himself, he’d been waiting for something like this to happen. They can clear out all the ocean that has been sitting between them, but there’s still pain that thrums beneath—the pain that neither of them are responsible for.

And then his heart almost stutters to a stop when he steps into the room.

The bedsheets are twisted and messy but still startlingly empty. Mark is about to make his way into the bathroom—or start turning over every piece of furniture in the house—when he hears a soft whimper. It’s coming from under the bed.

He takes a couple of steps forward, careful not to startle, before sinking to his knees.

It’s then that he spots Donghyuck, arms curled around himself, tucked underneath the bed frame.

His eyes—filled with fear and despair and unshed tears—flick up to Mark’s. Inside his chest, Mark’s heart twists.

“Hyuck,” he whispers softly.

Donghyuck’s shoulders shake. 

“Hyuck-ah, are you okay?”

At first, Donghyuck nods. And then after a moment, he shakes his head. “I’m not sure,” he says faintly.

Mark longs to reach out for him.

“Can I– is there something I can do to help?”

Donghyuck just looks up at him for a moment, and it’s only then that Mark notices how short the boy’s breaths are. “I–” Donghyuck tries to say but can’t finish.

“Did you want me to go?”

“No.” The response is immediate and then a hand is reaching out, extending towards him, and for once Mark can understand exactly what Donghyuck is trying to tell him _. Please stay._

He takes Donghyuck’s hand and the rest of the boy follows as he allows himself to be pulled into Mark’s arms.

They haven’t talked about sharing beds since the morning after the storm, but Donghyuck doesn’t protest when Mark places him on the bed and crawls in next to him.

He shuffles close and reaches out for Mark’s hand. 

“I’ll stay,” Mark promises as he threads their fingers together. “Until you fall back asleep, I’ll be right here.”

In the dark, Donghyuck’s eyes find his. “And after that?”

Mark draws him closer and curls an arm around his shoulders. “And after that too.”

* * *

“I said, _sift_ the flour, not get it all over the walls.”

Mark looks up from the bowl with a grin. Donghyuck is so cute when he tries to nag. In fact, he’d look even cuter if Mark just–

“Hyung!”

Laughter bubbles from Mark’s lips because Donghyuck’s glare is a hundred times weaker with flour streaked across his cheek, and he feels absolutely no guilt for being the one who put it there. 

Schooling his expression, Donghyuck then finds a mischievous smile of his own. Before Mark can duck out of reach, Donghyuck darts forward and adorns Mark with a matching streak in the middle of his forehead. 

Mark is able to hold his look of dismay for two whole seconds. And then the fondness slips through and he’s smiling down at Donghyuck. Somehow he’d been banished to the countertop, stealing chocolate chips from the packet and stirring bowls when asked, but now he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. Not when he’s given such a beautiful view of one particular Lee Donghyuck; cheeks dashed in flour and with a smile as bright as day. 

He gets to watch him as he works too, melting butter on the stove and separating egg whites—a job that Mark had been strictly banned from ever since he was fourteen and had unsuccessfully cracked half a dozen eggs all over the benchtop.

Mark gets to see all of the Lee Donghyucks from his spot on the counter. The Donghyuck that Mark has always known is there in the boy’s smile and his laugh, the way he hums under his breath as he cooks and twirls ingredients through the air without ever touching them.

Then there’s the Donghyuck that Mark had met when he had first arrived, the one whose shoulders aren’t set as freely as before and that jumps at large noises. It’s the one that had been born after his time in Jinx’s warehouse. 

And Mark loves them both. He loves Donghyuck in spite of all of it, on purpose and with determination because that’s what he’s always done. He doesn’t think there’s a version of Donghyuck that he wouldn’t love.

There are versions of Mark too. There are all the different versions of himself that have become fractured over the years—him as a child with a heart that burned too hot, then the boy who he was after meeting Taeyong and the boy he was with Donghyuck.

He’s got versions that taste a little bitter in his mouth too, like the person he became after Donghyuck disappeared and the one he was after his accident. But that’s okay, he thinks.

He’s still Mark. Donghyuck is still Donghyuck. And somehow, amazingly, they found each other again. 

He steals another chocolate chip and laughs when Donghyuck tries to bat him away.

They still have each other.

After Mark is finished cleaning up—one of the things he is capable of without causing a kitchen disaster—he throws himself down onto the sofa. He’s not even finished settling into the couch cushions, when Fig appears, climbing straight onto his chest and curling into a ball. 

Mark, a little sugar-high on biscuits and a lot happy, smiles sleepily at her. She lets out a loud purr when he reaches out to pat her and rubs her fluffy cheek against his shirt. Being covered in cat hair is so worth it.

In the background, he hears Donghyuck in the kitchen preparing something for dinner.

“Fig, _Fig,_ what a lovely name,” Mark murmurs to her. He scratches behind her ear gently and is immediately awarded with another purr. “You know your name is kind of like mine, Fig? Well not Mark, that would just be silly. But I was a superhero once,” he tells her. She watches him with half-lidded eyes and he can’t help but smile wider.

“They called me Figment, y’know, because I could see people’s thoughts. Little me was so proud of the name. And I could even change people’s thoughts around if I wanted to, like a figment of someone’s imagination. Make them see things they weren’t actually seeing. But you, Fig, you’re just like me. Figment and Fig, Fig and Figm–”

He glances up and spots Donghyuck staring at him wide-eyed with a dark blush across his cheeks.

“Wait–” 

Mark’s sleepy mind grapples to find purchase. Donghyuck’s blush has seeped down to his neck, staining his ears bright red too.

“But you said it was the fig tree!”

“That was true!” Donghyuck tries to defend. “It was part of the reason, admittedly just a small part of the reason–”

Donghyuck shakes his head and then buries his face in his hands. Mark isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or not. _Would he be able to dream up something like this?_

“You named your cat after me?” It’s soft and a little unsure and it has Donghyuck pulling his face out of his hands to look up at him.

He nods once and a smile climbs up onto his lips and then he says, with so much fondness that it almost hurts, “it’s always been you, Mark. All this time.”

That kind of makes Mark want to cry. He thinks that Donghyuck can tell because the boy is by his side instantly, looking ready to cover up his words with apology after apology. He sits up before Donghyuck can say anything, letting Fig hop off his chest. There’s nothing to apologise for anyway. 

“I love you.”

The words feel right in his mouth. Mark has been waiting so long to say them.

Donghyuck’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens. Then closes. Then his eyes go a little misty. Mark waits— _he’s willing to wait a whole lifetime for this boy._

_“Oh.”_

Mark grins. “Yah, don’t look so surprised.”

And then Donghyuck surges forward and wraps his arms around Mark to pull him close. Mark accepts willingly, tugging the boy down onto the couch and holding him close. 

“I love you too,” Donghyuck whispers into his neck.

In his chest, the hollowed out part becomes smaller.

Fig reappears to curl up on Mark’s free shoulder. She lets out a loud purr against his cheek, just as Donghyuck adds, “I’ve loved you all along.”

After twelve years of knowing each other, Mark thinks he’s silly for having worried so much. “All these years?” he still asks, however, because he’s allowed to now.

_“Always.”_

It’s quiet for a couple of heartbeats before: “Me too.”

Donghyuck presses closer and Mark doesn’t mention his small sniffle. Not when there are tears of his own collecting in his eyes. He lets them fall freely because the only thing they hold is happiness.

* * *

The sky is clear of clouds. The massive expanse of blue stretches to the very corners of the world. Mark sits on the grass beneath it and marvels at it—at the clearness of it and at the stars which lay hidden behind it.

Weeks ago now, he had looked up at the same sky in the early hours of the morning and asked it the questions that lay too heavy on his heart. He had wondered about his grief and his longing and about the words that had always gotten stuck in his throat. 

The morning feels forever ago, now that he’s pried apart each of the worries and carefully collected the pieces that had been blown apart in the storm. 

Hope is so much easier to find now. It sits ready in his chest, waiting to beat back the old demons that try to lift their heads and the darkness that plagues his dreams. And Donghyuck doesn’t feel a million miles away anymore. There’s no more lines or board games. Now it’s just them.

_Imagine how proud Taeyong would be if he looked back on how far both we had come._ Mark thinks he’s starting to finally understand why Taeyong sent him here and helped him find his way back to Donghyuck. 

Mark had been in bad shape. Not just because of his physical injury or the strange complications that had started going on with his head. In all truthfulness, Mark hadn’t been in good shape for a while, perhaps even before that. And so Taeyong had sent him to Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck who had taken his heart with him when he had first disappeared. The boy who had torn his heart apart once. The boy who maybe, just maybe, Mark also now has found the courage to let be there as he puts the pieces back together.

He thinks of their moment in the car, their talk of forever, of flour in each other’s hair and of soft ‘I love yous’. Of their early mornings that Mark never thought he would be able to have again. 

That’s how Donghyuck finds him; smiling softly up at the sky.

“Hey, you.”

Mark grins up at him. “Hey yourself.”

“What are you doing on the ground?”

_Oh._ Mark glances down at himself sprawled out on the grass. And then he remembers how he got there—the flash of pain that had shot through his leg. The one that’s still dull and pulsing under his skin even now. 

“I can’t get up,” he admits. It feels good to say it so casually with so little shame.

Donghyuck doesn’t ask any other questions after that. Instead, he just lies down next to him, with his head finding Mark’s shoulder and his fingers tracing patterns over his arm to wish the pain away. It’s like that for a while, just the two of them, and hazy in the way that Mark’s mind feels a little fuzzy around the edges and they find a liminal spot in-between space and time that’s just for them. Him and Donghyuck. The two of them and–

“You’re here.” He sucks in a breath. “You’re _alive,”_ he realises all at once. And in the next moment weights are being unclipped from his chest.

Donghyuck smiles, all warmth and sunshine. “I sure am.”

A beat of silence and then, “Holy shit.”

Donghyuck throws back his head and laughs and the sound is so clear and so open. Mark can’t quite remember the last time that he saw Donghyuck laugh like that. He’s smiling so wide that a door of heaven opens somewhere up above. _Such a sky you never did see._

It’s in that moment that Mark understands exactly why Troy burned and why Isolde’s heart had been so pained and why Eurydice had turned back. 

He reaches out to hold Donghyuck’s hand and bears a little of his heart through the thought that he offers.

Donghyuck glances up at him, eyes wide. It’s been a long time since Mark had extended his emotions to Donghyuck like this. And even if he isn’t able to do it as well as he used to and they come out a little distorted, Donghyuck accepts them willingly, never leaving either of them adrift anymore. 

The sky hangs above them, a brilliant _brilliant_ blue, and underneath it, Donghyuck smiles at him. It’s all the world perfectly colliding at once.

In his chest, Mark holds all the messy bits of himself that he can reach together and thinks suddenly, _oh. Maybe this could be something beautiful after all._

* * *

“Ancient World studies was not a class that I missed in the slightest. If anything it was one of the main reasons I was so happy to get out of there.”

Mark ducks out of the way of the basil zooming into Donghyuck’s hand and shakes his head. “You just didn’t like her because she made you sit at the front.”

“It was fair, I wasn’t even a bad kid!”

“You probably got caught sleeping in the back too many times,” Mark says, opening the cupboard with all the plates. He chooses two orange ones and moves over to the cups. “She wouldn’t let anyone get away with not paying attention.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s not my fault that criminals don’t keep to a healthy sleep schedule.”

Mark, having responded to far too many three am calls for their assistance, can’t disagree with that. “I still remember how pissed Taeyong had been at you for dropping out,” Mark adds. He chooses two glasses for them each and then watches as Donghyuck lifts the pot from the stove and moves it onto a chopping board. He reaches for the bowls Mark had chosen out and started serving. 

“There was just nothing left in school for me anymore,” he says as he does. “Not when I was so ready to be out on the streets with you guys. I didn’t feel like I had enough time for everything and I didn’t want to keep failing.”

Mark remembers the day Donghyuck had come home, drenched from the rain, and told them both that he wasn’t going back. After Taeyong’s anger had worn off, he’d pleaded with Donghyuck to change his mind but Donghyuck hadn’t budged. 

“I have no idea how Taeyong-hyung managed to get a degree in between saving the world and trying his best to keep us safe,” Mark says. 

“We certainly didn’t make it easy for him.”

And they really hadn’t. In between all of their injuries and antics during fights, and one of them running straight at danger without waiting for someone else, Taeyong had always had his work cut out for himself.

Mark’s heart tugs painfully and feels it from Donghyuck too. They miss Taeyong. Donghyuck passes him a bowl of soup and ushers him over to the table before grabbing his own and following.

“Do you remember the times we forced him to come and sing karaoke with us?”

Mark snorts. “Forced? He was always the one trying to get us to go and organising us both.” He sits down across from Donghyuck and doesn’t miss the fond smile on the boy’s mouth. “The only thing that was forced about it is the number of times you made him listen to _Holding Out for a Hero.”_

Mark sees the exact moment that Donghyuck remembers because he breaks into a wide grin. “Oh yeah! That was my go-to song.”

Donghyuck had sung it so often that he had stopped needing to look at the lyrics and instead spent the entire time singing them obnoxiously at Mark while Taeyong laughed at them in the back. They were always a little tipsy by the time that Donghyuck made his way up to the machine and clicked in the song’s number. He had known that off by heart too.

No matter how much Mark had groaned about it, Donghyuck had never failed to sing it every time.

_“Where have all the good men gone and where are–”_

“No! Stop it!”

“But Mark!” Donghyuck cries around his grin. “I need my streetwise Hercules!”

“Hercules isn’t even real!” Mark protests in response, waving his spoon at Donghyuck.

“Well, nobody thought powers were real either but look where we are.”

Mark shakes his head. “That doesn’t count.”

He receives a pout in return. “Why won’t you let me just dream about my hero. Cause, _I need a hero~”_

Even when he’s joking around, his voice is so pretty. Mark curses him out in his head. “You’re evil.”

“Strong and fast and _fresh from a fight–”_

Mark sighs into his bowl, no strength to fight it off. “Just you quoting this is bringing back so many memories of when you made me watch Footloose the musical.”

Donghyuck just sings on. _“Up where the mountains meet the heavens above.”_

And then Mark gets caught up in watching him, the way Donghyuck shapes the words and lets them mould into song. Nostalgia blooms in his chest.

_“Through the wind, and the chill, and the rain. All through the storm.”_ Donghyuck’s voice trails off and gaze meets Mark’s. 

It’s all there in his eyes; the leaves shaken by a thunderstorm that have finally settled again.

Mark reaches out to hook his ankle around Donghyuck’s and lets another piece of his heart slot back into place. 

“Would you still like me to sweep you off your feet?” he asks next just because he can.

“Oh please, Mark Lee. You’ve got the same noodle arms you had when you were thirteen, they’ll be no hope for that.”

“You underestimate me, Lee. I’m–”

But then he’s cut off by the sound of a knock on the door. Both of them turn towards the sound because it’s nearing eight o’clock and the sun is long set. _Who could be at the door?_

“Are you expecting someone?”

Donghyuck shakes his head.

Both of them pause for a second. “I’ll go see who it is,” Mark says, getting to his feet.

Donghyuck doesn’t protest as he watches him move towards the hallway. Mark moves past their umbrellas, making sure not to step on any of their shoes scattered next to the door. They don’t have a peephole to check who it might be, so Mark just takes the doorknob in hand and twists.

The first thing he notices is pink hair and then his eyes travel down and meet all too familiar eyes and his heart catches in his throat.

_Speak of the devil and he will come_. 

They stare at each other for a couple of heartbeats—Mark just taking in the sight of him—and he’s ready to reach out, to say something, when a sound behind him interrupts.

And then that gaze is no longer levelled at Mark and instead over his shoulder, seeing a sight that makes him look impossibly sad. His first clench at his sides, as if he doesn’t know whether he’s allowed to reach out or not. 

But Donghyuck gets there first, throwing his arms around Taeyong and digging his face into his shoulder.

“Donghyuck-ah,” Taeyong murmurs, affection and relief colouring his voice. He squeezes his eyes shut as if trying to hold back tears.

“Hyung,” whispers back Donghyuck. “Hyung, you’re here.”

And if that wasn’t enough to make Mark tear up, Taeyong peels away one of his arms from Donghyuck and reaches out for him too. And then Mark is wrapped around them both and it’s the three of them against the world, just like it’s always been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just when you thought it was over? Boom, surprise._
> 
> There are two things that I have been dying to reveal for a while now that finally came about in this chapter. Taeyong is definitely one of them, I am so excited for him and I've been waiting to really introduce you guys to him for so so long now! He's family, guys!
> 
> And the second is one that someone actually guessed a while back and which has been sitting in my notes for a while as it waited to be let out into the open. And that is Fig's name!! 
> 
> All the surprises!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive while I wrote this, you are all truly so lovely and I'm overjoyed when I hear from you about my baby, capes! Stay stafe and take care of yourselves!!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/fiddlestyyx) | [tmblr](https://fiddle-styx.tumblr.com/)  
> [messy pinterest inspo](https://www.pinterest.com.au/ldh_baobei/superheroes/)  
> [messy playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6pd9HiNQQQGsDnwpHLf0jP?si=UrrnMcRUQHqR3WeJUYYnbg)


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